


Trapped

by Papallion



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Combat Training, Comfort Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Flashbacks, Gay Sex, M/M, Omnic Crisis, Rape/Non-con Elements, SEP Days, Threesome - M/M/M, Trapped In A Closet, past abusive relationships, r76, recovering, torture resistance training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 66,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papallion/pseuds/Papallion
Summary: During SEP, things get frisky when Gabriel gets locked in a closet with one of the shyer SEP soldiers.The story then follows said SEP 98 through the Crisis as he does his best to do his job.





	1. Meeting Marcus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEP was like a second puberty, and it showed. What are a hundred healthy, physically fit and bored soldiers to do while locked in an underground bunker?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a quick post, just a quick romp between Gabriel and Marcus, an OC of mine. But I thought, why are they in the closet? When does this take place? Then it quickly became four, then five, now (as of this note) ten chapters.  
> It will cover from their meeting in SEP to the Crisis and beyond.  
> Please note, there are past mentions of sexual abuse, but there are marked.

“I said I’m not really interested.”

Jack wasn’t liking what he was hearing.

“Aw, c’mon, I’ve slept with the other 90s, you’re the only one left!”

98 made flapping motions with his hands. “I’m not a conquest. Now, just, go on, shoo. Begone.”

Jack entered the room right as David Floss, SEP 32, slammed the green eyed 90 into the wall. He gripped 98’s wrists and hauled them above his head.

Jack could see the panic forming in 98’s face as he struggled to free himself.

“I don’t think you understand, 98!” Floss snarled. “I’m going to complete the set!”

Jack couldn’t think of 98’s name, just that he had green eyes and carried a rosary with him. Gabriel Reyes was several feet down the hall, and Jack quickly waved him down. The man was a bit intense, but he and Jack had become close the last week or so. As much as Jack wanted to burst into the room, Floss was a massive man who was still filling out. It would be best to do this with backup.

98 was not going quietly. “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every specter from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Begone and stay far from this creature of God!” he commanded. His voice was still soft, despite his yelling.

“Freaking weirdo. Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

98 couldn’t break free from Floss’ grip. He simply hadn’t put the muscle and height on most of the others had. Jack himself had shot up two inches and put on muscle weight, but the 90s were all slimmer and shorter, 98 being the shortest at 5’10”, and the only SEP under six feet. He barely tipped one hundred and eighty pounds on the scale, far less than the 6’06”, two hundred and seventy pound Floss.

“No. Fuck off.” He was spunky, though, and started kicking out.

Right as Jack waved Gabriel into the room Floss backhanded 98.

“Hey!” Gabriel snarled, and Floss looked over. “Back off, pendejo, the man said no!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, beanie!” Floss snapped. 

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up and his face darkened.

“I mean, the, your hat!” Floss quickly explained, and 98 suddenly kneed him in the groin. 

As Floss went down 98 caught Floss’ chin on his knee and bolted from the room.

“Hey, wait!” Jack called as the green eyed man dashed down the hall.

“You get him, I’ve got Floss,” Gabriel said darkly, and Jack nodded and took off down the hall. 

Jack was fast, but so was 98. He eventually caught up to him in a bathroom, and he could hear gasping sobs. “Hey, 98?” Jack asked in a quiet voice as he knocked on the only locked stall. “Buddy? Hey, you need to talk about it?”

98 was sitting on the floor, keeping the door shut. “No!” he snarled, and Jack sat down on the other side of the door.

“Reyes is taking care of Floss. You’re not the only one he’s hassled.” Jack sat quietly for a few minutes and let 98 get his composure back. “Hey, you want me to take you back to your room?”

“I, um, yeah, yeah, sure.” 98 stood up and unlocked the door.

Jack dampened a paper towel with cold water and handed it over, and 98 washed his light brown face.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, shutting his eyes tight and rubbing them. The light bothered his eyes recently recently.

“Hey, I’m 76, Jack Morrison.”

“98, D’Angelo. Marcus Leóne D’Angelo.” Marcus examined his face and scrubbed his neck. “Um, sometimes, sometimes people call me Angel Eyes.”

Jack nodded. “I can see why.” 

Marcus had truly beautiful green eyes, in color, shape and form. He blushed a little, and Jack motioned for him to follow.

“You don’t hang out a lot with the others,” Jack noticed. “Shy?”

Marcus had pulled his plastic, military issued rosary from his pocket and was passing the beads through his fingers. “Just, well, not good with others. Making friends. Never knew many people growing up.”

“Well,” Jack grinned, “you’re in luck! I’m great at it! Made friends with Reyes, didn’t I?”

“He’s not a conquest, either,” Marcus said quietly.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jack said quickly. “But I can see what you mean.”

The pair entered the hall leading to the 80-90 rooms, and they stopped near the end.

“This is me. 97 and 98. Carlton Salinas.” Marcus pressed his hand against the panel and the door slid open. “Hey, um, Jack? Thank you.” He stepped inside. “And Reyes.”

“The kid OK?” Gabriel asked at supper that night. He passed on the fake Parmesan cheese, but he did take Jack’s garlic packet. It was fake garlic, and he hated it, but it made the bland, calorie rich food they were given palatable. 

“I heard,” Brittney Coleman, 68, said as she swirled some pasta against her spoon, “he hasn’t slept with anyone.”

Sex was a large part of SEP.

There were one hundred young, healthy, physically fit people in the program, and they were all given steroids and hormones and gene therapy. The result was a second puberty, and more casual sex than anyone had expected. It was easier to give out a pamphlet on safety and a box of condoms with each injection than it was to try and stop it all. Many of the SEPs did their best to self-police and watch after each other; security was minimal in the secured location.

“Well, that’s his right,” Jack said firmly. He took the packet from Gabriel and tipped what was left of the garlic packet on his pasta.

Gabriel made himself as much as the subpar pasta as he could. He wouldn’t have eaten any if he didn’t need almost seven-thousand calories now a days. “I’m gonna go check on him,” Gabriel said, and as he stood up he shoved what was left of his pasta in the middle of the table. The others instantly claimed parts of it as their own; while they never starved in the facility, they were always hungry due to their new body mass. 

Gabriel knew roughly where to find Marcus, and headed for the chapel. 

It was a smaller room with a few portraits of some saints, a crucifix about a foot high, and a star of David. At one point someone had hung a picture of the prophet Muhammad, but it was removed minutes later and a ‘respect for other religions’ email sent out. There were six small pews, three on each side, and a small pulpit.

It was one of the few rooms sex was forbidden in.

Oddly, Marcus was not inside. There was a scarf and a book on a pew, but no other sign of people.

Gabriel mused, then walked down the short aisle. He heard a knocking on the closet door, and knocked back. “Hello?”

“Hey, let me out!” Marcus snapped from inside. His voice was hard to hear through the thick door.

As Gabriel opened the door something cracked against his head and he stumbled. Hands shoved him inside the darkness and slammed the door. He crashed into something firm and warm and protesting, and he struggled for a moment. Gabriel managed to grapple something in the darkness, and he realized he was holding a person.

“Hi.” It was Marcus.

Gabriel was shoved up against Marcus. “What are you doing in here?” the taller man demanded. Why was it so tight?

“Floss shoved me in. You?”

“Same.” Gabriel hated to admit it, but Floss was stronger than he was. He could hear a click from outside. “Wait, I think he just locked the door.” Gabriel turned around, and he felt Marcus press against him. Why would Floss lock them in a closet? What was his plan?

“Hey, take it easy!” Marcus snapped. “There’s hardly room to to breathe in here! It’s, like, two feet square at best!” It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much.

Gabriel managed to turn around again, but he wasn’t too sure where he was in the darkness. “What is this? Why is it so small?”

“It’s a small chapel, it gets a small closet,” Marcus explained. “There used to be a few things in here, like some books, an altar cloth, a menorah.” He shoved a little, hand resting on Gabriel’s breast a little longer than it had to. “Someone took most of it, who knows why. Now there’s just this empty tote box in here.”

“If you stood on it you might be as tall as I am,” Gabriel smirked.

“Ha. Ha. HA.” Marcus tried to adjust himself and Gabriel felt something hard press into his side. 

Gabriel chuckled. “Is that your rosary in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” He could feel Marcus freeze completely, and even hold his breath. “Marc? You OK there?” Gabriel listened, but only heard a soft voice. “What?”

“It, it’s Marcus.” He wriggled a little, trying to gain some space. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s just crowded in here.”

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a while. “So, you, um, don’t engage in a lot of group activities,” Gabriel noted.

“I’m Catholic.” Marcus’ voice was flat and even.

“I heard they call you Angel Eyes,” Gabriel said in a quieter voice. He could see the faint light reflected in his green eyes. Was that normal? “I can see why.” He leaned back, trying to give him more space, and his thigh pressed against Marcus’ crotch. The slender man was hard, and Gabriel laughed a little.

“It’s not funny,” Marcus hissed. “I’ve been very good, I haven’t cheated at all.”

“You know no one’s counting it as cheating, right?” Gabriel asked. “If you don’t take care of yourself, you’re just going to be miserable.” He gave a soft chuckle and felt Marcus shiver on his thigh. “Trust me, I tried to resist. Didn’t last long.” He sighed softly, then. “But don’t ever let anyone take you against your will.” He felt Marcus shift in front of him. “Jack and Beth and Sal and some others and I, we’re all looking out for each other. I know the others have their own groups, too.”

“Hey, Reyes?” Marcus asked quietly.

Gabriel gave an affirmative noise.

“Were you the one who blacked both of Floss’ eyes?”

“You bet,” he said quietly. “The guy can’t treat you like an object.” He felt Marcus shift a little, pressing his thigh against Gabriel’s cock.

“That’s, that’s pretty,” Marcus said quietly. “I don’t want to say nice of you, but nice of you. Thank you.” He worked himself a little closer.

“Hey, Marcus,” Gabriel sighed, “if you’re trying to do what I think you’re doing, you don’t have to just to thank me.” He shifted his hips, and Marcus took a hungry breath.

“It’s, look, I,” he said quietly. “I just, I do. Want to. But, I’m seeing someone.” He sighed. “I think. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” Gabriel said. He felt Marcus lift his arms over his head. “But if you’re down, I’m down.” 

Marcus lowered his hands around Gabriel’s shoulders. “I, I would like to.” He took a deep breath. “How much will it hurt?”

“Hurt? No, it won’t hurt!” Gabriel insisted. “Unless you want it to.”

“No! No, I, no, forget I asked.”

Gabriel felt a pang of sorrow for him. He was the youngest member of SEP at twenty-one. How did this baby-faced kid get into this program? How many bad experiences had he had?

“Well, it seems like it’s up to me to show him you good time.” Gabriel tugged him under one knee and around the shoulders, hauling him closer.

Marcus let himself be pulled closer and higher, and his own fine lips all but sunk into Gabriel’s plush lips. He moaned into Gabriel’s mouth as the older man sunk his fingers deep into Marcus’ thigh, hitching him up further. Marcus quickly realized everything about Gabriel was thick and deep, from the fingers digging into his ass, the lips pressed against his, and the neck Marcus’ arm was wrapped around. 

Gabriel lowered Marcus and hitched him up again, rubbing their crotches together. “Hey, you got your condoms?” he asked, and Marcus shook his head. He had taken to trading them for condiment packages in the mess, or for contraband like pencils and paper. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a few left.” Gabriel fished one from his pocket, and he quickly rolled it on his swelling cock. “You know how to use one of these, alter boy?”

“Yes,” Marcus insisted in a petulant voice. “Just, lemme see.” He took the condom and felt it. “Oh, it’s, um, different from what I’m used to.”

Gabriel could hear the excuse for the lie it was. “Then let me help.” He bent down and hefted Marcus buy his knees, almost hefting him over his shoulder. Gabriel ignored Marcus’ startled yelp and tugged on the waist to Marcus’ sweatpants. “Hold still. I gotcha.”

Marcus braced himself against the ceiling and the door. “Warn a guy, would you?” he asked, and felt Gabriel haul on his waistband. “Wait.”

“Nervous, Marcus?”

“Just, warn a guy.” He managed to lift his hips, and Gabriel got his sweatpants down. “OK, um, I guess I’m ready.” His dick was suddenly warm and very tight.

Marcus’ face reddened as he realized what was happening. 

Gabriel had slid the condom his his mouth and used said mouth to roll the condom onto Marcus’ dick. He hefted Marcus under his thighs to adjust him, and started to work his mouth around the younger man.

Marcus pressed against the door to keep his balance, head right against the ceiling, as Gabriel continued to work his tongue in an ungodly fashion. Marcus tried to stay quiet, but he was quickly losing his composure. It didn’t help that Gabriel suddenly laughed below him.

“This, it isn’t funny!” Marcus insisted. “What’s, ah, what’s...” He couldn’t make coherent words as Gabriel continued, making only throaty moan.

Gabriel pulled Marcus away from him, holding the condom down with two fingers, causing Marcus to gasp and shiver as he made an audible popping noise as he left Gabriel’s mouth. “I just feel like to world’s most pornographic Scotsman, and you’re the worst bag pipe ever.”

Marcus wanted to be angry at being made fun of, but he started to laugh. “I think,” he said quietly, “the word is a plural word, like pants.”

“Scissors,” Gabriel grinned and bounced Marcus on his thigh. “Can you turn around?”

“I, no, there’s no, we don’t have anything,” Marcus stammered. “You said no pain.”

“And I mean it. No anal.” Gabriel cupped Marcus’ face with his hands and kissed him gently. “ Turn around, Esmeraldo.”

Marcus managed to turn, and he felt Gabriel slip between his thighs.

“Keep your legs shut tight, got it?” He could feel Marcus nod and take a deep breath, and Gabriel began to thrust between his thighs slowly. He wrapped his arms around Marcus’ chest and slowly nibbled on his ear, and Marcus melted under his ministrations. “Can’t do this with the others, we’re too close in height.”

Gabriel’s cock rubbed firmly against the bottom of Marcus’, and Marcus let out a moan. “That’s right, you can sing for me, choir boy!” He ran his hands over Marcus’ chest as he continued to thrust, and Marcus let out another moan.

Marcus bit his lip as Gabriel stood up straighter. He felt like he was riding a mechanical bull of sorts, and he stood on his toes to make room for Gabriel under him.

“Hey, use your hands, Esmeraldo. Make us both happy.”

Marcus nodded and gripped them both and started to ripple his fingers. He had given his lover plenty of solo hand-jobs, but not together. It felt different and right and good, and Gabriel’s mouth continued to work on his neck and ear as his hands roamed Marcus’ chest. Once Gabriel bit into the space his neck met his shoulders his knees went weak and his eyes fluttered. He gripped both cocks a little too tight and felt Gabriel buck against him, and Marcus felt his guts burn a little.

Gabriel stood up straight and thrusted, driving Marcus over the edge, and his vision whited out for a moment as he came. 

Marcus leaned against Gabriel, slightly stunned, as Gabriel gave three more thrusts. 

Gabriel came, as well, jerking under Marcus’ hand, and Gabriel gave rolling, comforting purr. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He tenderly kissed Marcus’ ear.

“So much, so much better,” he hissed. He gripped Gabriel’s hands firmly, trying to remain standing. “So much better.”

Gabriel cradled him a little longer. “Do you need help?” he asked gently.

“No, he, he’s good to me.” 

Once more Gabriel could feel the lie in the excuse. “Well, when you’re ready, you’ve got friends.”

Marcus nodded against his chest. “What do we do with the condoms?”

Gabriel swore in multiple languages. “Well, swear with me.” He laughed as Marcus went off in Italian. “You’re Italian?”

“D’Angelo. I’m Marcus Leóne D’Angelo. I ain’t Russian, friend.” He liked feeling Gabriel's laughter. “Hang on, hang on.” Marcus pulled his house slippers off and tugged his sock off. “Let’s just do a variation on a classic. Here, put it in my sock.”

Gabriel laughed as they shoved his sock with the tied-off condoms, and Marcus wrapped it in his other sock.

“There. I’ll just dump them. They’re not my socks anyways.”

Gabriel rotated Marcus and tapped his feet, and found the tote box. “Here, hold on.” He put his weight on the tote box, noting it was wood, and sat down, pulling Marcus into his lap. “If I know Jack, he’ll be here soon.”

“So, we just wait.” The two got comfortable, and sat silently, knowing Jack would eventually open the door. 

Gabriel snapped awake once the door opened. “What took you?” he asked and yawned, and nudged Marcus. “Up, we’re free.”

Marcus had dozed off, and he blinked stupidly in the sudden light. “Oh, Saint Barbara, I thank you for this blessed freedom!” he hissed and crossed himself as he pressed past Jack. “I thought we were going to suffocate in there!” He collected his scarf and bible from the pew and took another deep breath.

“It was hot as hell in there, we need a shower,” Gabriel groaned as he shook his legs out. “C’mon, Marcus, stow your book and let’s get clean.”


	2. Gym Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combat training leaves our boys a hot mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but can't I write smut without the story.

Gabriel scoffed at the food as he sat down. “Be glad you missed dinner last night, green eyes,” he muttered as he dropped his plate.

“It’s Angel Eyes,” Marcus corrected.

“Gee, I wonder why?” Beth said and stared at him. 

Marcus shyly looked away and the table laughed at him.

“It was the WORST pasta I ever had,” Jack muttered. “And I’ve eaten my own pasta.”

“I can deal with bad pasta,” Marcus admitted, “but this? What IS this?”

“Never had enchirtos?” Gabriel said in a mocking tone. “It’s a burrito/enchilada hybrid.” He stabbed a portion in his mouth; after his light dinner last night he was more than hungry today. “And it sucks.”

“What’s the difference between the two?” Marcus asked as he ate some of his own. “Don’t they believe in SEASONING?” he muttered.

Gabriel put his hand over his left breast. “A man after my own heart!”

“Should be from what I heard last night!” Floss sneered from the safety of a table away. “And in the chapel no less!”

Gabriel stabbed a fork of enchirito in Floss’ direction. “Nothing happened. Marcus said no, and that means no.” Gabriel narrowed his eyes . “And normal people respect that.”

Marcus’ blush conveyed his thanks, in a way. “We just sat there for a while, waiting to get out.”

“So you didn’t fuck?” Floss asked, somewhat confused. They were supposed to fuck and get caught and reprimanded for having sex in the chapel.

“No, I didn’t take him against his will, if that’s what you’re asking,” Gabriel snarled, “and I don’t like the idea that you ARE.” He prodded the table with a finger with each word. “The man. Said. NO. Now get lost. We’re trying to eat our bootleg Mexican food.”

“I think it’s more culturally appropriated,” Musaaid el-Dawood, SEP 21, said. “I’m pretty sure this is not halal by sheer awfulness.” Jack aimed his fork at Musaaid’s plate and Musaaid pulled it away. “Didn’t say I wasn’t going to eat it!”

Once Floss realised they were ignoring him, he took his tray and wandered off. He had a shorter than normal lunch break today, since he was missing part of his wardrobe and needed to make up for his missing socks.

  
  
  


Jack was always amazing at how flexible Gabriel was. 

The man was stretching one leg out, foot resting on his other heel, hands above his head.

Jack really wanted to run his hands over that sculpted back, but he didn’t dare. Not without permission, and not in a gym full of other soldiers. Especially not with a nervous energy like today.

Many of them realized they were not yet done growing, and therefore each combat exercise was a trial in their new strengths and durabilities. They lined up in numerical order, saving the empty spots in honor of the lost, and waited to be called.

Some men, like Gabriel, explored their new strengths carefully.

And some, like Romeo Pichelli and David Floss, flung themselves wholeheartedly into the storm.

“32!” Yoshihiro Watanabe, the instructor, called out, and Floss strutted into the ring, his friends cheering him on.

“Don’t be D’Angelo,” Gabriel muttered a few times. He didn’t know Jack was praying the same thing from his own side of the gym.

“98!”

“David and Goliath!” someone shouted from the 50s, and the instructor quickly smashed the laughter.

“In the ring, 98!” he snapped, and Marcus stepped forward. 97 and 99 pat his back, offering quiet words. “Remove your opponent from the ring. No time limit. No rules.”

“You’re going down, string bean,” Floss threatened, and Marcus shrugged and rolled his head, cracking his neck.

“It’s Angel Eyes,” he corrected, and stood loosely on the balls of his feet.

The whistle blew and Floss lunged, and Marcus effortly planted a hand on his shoulder.

He boosted himself over the ox of a man then kicked out and slammed his feet into Floss’ back.

Floss shot forward and was half out of the ring when Marcus was on him. He quickly hauled his short of and slapped it over Floss’ face, hauling him back in the ring. 

“You are not dismissed,” Marcus said cooly. “You leave when I say you do.” He rolled his shoulders, and everyone could see how densely packed his muscles were. The 90s weren’t as large as the others, but everyone could now see they weren’t lacking in strength.

“Oh, string bean’s got a big man complex now?” Floss sneared, and he lunged again.

Marcus rolled, then brought his knee into the back of Floss’ knee, toppling him. Marcus slammed his knee in the back of Floss’ head and Floss stumbled. He grabbed the back of Floss’ head and dragged him from the edge.

“You don’t get to leave yet.” Marcus returned to the middle of the ring. “And it’s Angel Eyes, you son of a perverse and rebellious woman.”

A handful of people barked out laughter, recognising the Biblical insult.

“You little prick,” Floss sneered.

Marcus simply huffed. “My little finger is thicker than your loins.”

Floss didn’t seem to have any other tactic than ‘be bigger than his opponent’.

Marcus, however, understood just how small and fast he was compared to the man who had most of a foot in height over him. He darted and rolled and ducked, leading Floss to the edge, and stood there. “Now get behind me.”

Floss lunged, and tackled Marcus.

Marcus seemed to lose all bones as he relaxed, slipping from Floss’ arms and letting Floss trip over his own body.

Floss stumbled out of the ring and Marcus stood up, dusting his shoulders off, and nodded. “Dismissed, soldier.”

Laughter and cheers broke out as Marcus turned to the instructor. Before he could ask for further instruction he realized the mood had changed and turned, unable to block or avoid Floss’ charge.

It turns out he didn’t have to.

Watanabe slammed into Floss and knocked him aside. He gripped Floss’ wrist and lifted up and around, pulling Floss’ arm over his shoulder and down his back.

Floss crumbled, trying to roll, but Watanabe was stronger.

“You might be 32 but I’m Delta, got that?” he hissed, and gripped Floss’ arm tighter. “I. Said. Got that?”

“Yes, sir!” Floss hissed, and Watanabe let him go. 

“98, put your shirt back on. 32, back in line. 98, middle of the ring. 68, you’re up.”

“But I won,” Marcus said quietly as he tucked his shirt into his sweatpants, and Watanabe turned to him.

“Which means you advance to the next round.”

Marcus nodded and prepared himself.

“First to three pins wins!” Watanabe shouted, and 68 nodded.

Marcus sighed and readied himself.

Marcus, despite his best effort, hit the mat.

Marcus, despite his best effort, hit the mat again.

Marcus, despite his best effort, hit the mat with a final thud.

He lay there, gasping for breath, and Brittney held her hand out. He accepted her hand and let her pull him up.

She didn’t telegraph her moves like FLoss did, and was much harder to fight.

“68, back in line. 98, middle of the ring. 76, you’re up.”

“What! But I lost!” Marcus whined.

“Which means you need more practice. Middle of the ring.”

Marcus wondered if it was because of his whining. “This is where I die,” he muttered to himself, and Jack stepped up. “Hi, Jack.”

“Hey, buddy.”

“First to three pins wins!” Watanabe shouted again. 

Jack quickly realized that while Marcus was faster than him, he hesitated; Floss was just too confident in his strength to see it. Marcus paused, lunging too late, and Jack easily gripped Marcus by his waist and tossed him. As Marcus landed face first on the mat, Jack fell on Marcus’ legs and pressed Marcus’ chest to the mat.

“Stop over thinking it!” he hissed into his ears. “Just relax, got that?” He could feel Marcus tense under him, and he curled up on himself for a moment. “Hey, whoa, you OK, Marcus?”

“Just, just give me a minute to breathe.” Marcus managed to sit up. “No air.”

“OK, just do it, don’t overthink it!” Jack urged, and Marcus nodded as Jack hauled him up.

Marcus quickly tried to grapple, but, despite his best effort, hit the mat with a breath-stealing crash.

He lay there for a minute, gathering his breath, and stood up.

He was promptly slammed in the chest by Jack’s arm and shoved backwards, and he held tight. When Jack went to sling him off Marcus went limp and rolled, and Jack skipped over him.

Marcus lay on the floor, and Jack paused. 

“Um, Marcus?” he asked and prodded him with his toe. “You OK there, buddy?”

Watanabe started to step forward, ready to call a medic, and Jack leaned over him.

Jack was never really sure quite what had happened.

From what he could recall Marcus’ legs snapped up, gripped his neck and shoulder, and as Marcus rolled Jack flew over his body. He hit the ground and Marcus pinned him with a leg. “Well, OK, now we’re getting somewhere!”

Marcus stayed low this time, watching Jack move. As Jack moved forward Marcus moved back, then suddenly rolled and put his back to Jack’s side. He gripped Jack’s elbow and hauled him backwards, then once more pinned him with his legs.

“You were faking with Brittney, weren’t you?” Jack gasped as Marcus’ leg him him down.

“Just wanted a breather is all.” Jack accepted the lie as an explanation. “You think someone small like me doesn’t train when I’m surrounded by giants?” Marcus rolled backwards and stood up taller, hopping on the balls of his feet. “I’ve always had to watch my back.”

“Enough chatter, more splatter!” Watanabe snapped, and Jack slammed into Marcus. 

He pinned Marcus, and Watanabe nodded.

“You two go until you get best out of seven, 98.”

Jack couldn’t help but grin smugly as Marcus groaned below him.

  
  
  


“Get. Off,” Marcus moaned. 

Jack was above him again, straddling Marcus’ waist and holding his wrists down. “Three of seven this time, you’re getting better.” Jack shook his head, shedding drops of sweat.

Marcus bucked beneath him. “Get. OFF. I don’t like being held down.” 

They were both breathing heavily and glaring at each other.

Gabriel squatted by them and rubbed Jack’s cornsilk hair. “Hey, Jack?” he asked with a lecherous grin, “you gonna get off?” 

“Not unless he GETS OFF,” Marcus snarled.

Jack let Marcus’ wrists go and lifted his hips, and Marcus slithered backwards.

“We should hit the showers,” Marcus muttered and, without being dismissed, walked away.

Jack followed.

The showers were quiet. Marcus was leaning against the wall, rubbing his right thumb over his index finger. “Wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said softly, and Jack walked up to him. 

“I figured after last night you could use a little perk me up. Imagine, over an hour with Gabe and nothing but sitting in his lap!” Jack laughed and leaned his hand against the wall, looming over Marcus. “Gotta admit, he’s got a nice lap.”

“That’s what he said happened?” Marcus asked quietly. “We just sat there?”

Jack grinned at him. “He said you were such a boring conversationalist you put yourself to sleep!”

“Decent of him, huh?” Marcus mused.

“Why, what really happened?” Jack asked and leaned closer.

“Please don’t,” Marcus said and pulled back a little. “I don’t like being pinned.”

Jack pulled back. “What do you like?” he asked, and they both looked up as people started to file into the room. Jack gripped Marcus’ upper arm and tugged, and Marcus followed deeper into the showers, and they entered the first lockable stall.

Jack covered Marcus’ mouth and they leaned into the back of the stall, listening.

“When I find that french fry I’m gonna pop his head off,” Floss was snarling.

“Pretty sure he’s, like, Italian?” Nat Flint said. “You know, D’Angelo. Might be Mexican. He’s tannish. I dunno. Hey, Pitch, isn’t D’Angelo an Italian name?” Flint was not known for his scintillating conversation. “You’re Italian, is he Italian?”

Pichelli groaned. “Yes, he’s Italian, OK?”

“Huh, what are the odds,” Flint mused.

“It’s a big country,” Floss snapped, “I’m certain there’s more than one family there.”

“He speaks Italian, do you?”

“Flint, shut up about D’Angelo!” Floss groaned.

“Never heard Pitch speak Italian.”

Jake and Marcus could hear several smacks, and then general bickering as the trio moved away.

Marcus tapped on Jack’s hand, and Jack pulled it away.

“Sorry!” They stepped away from each other, but the stall was small. “Just said you didn’t like it, too.”

“If I keep getting stuck in small rooms I’m going to have a very specific fetish,” Marcus muttered.

“Hey, Marcus?” Jack asked. “Is it because you’re Italian?” he asked with a grin.

Marcus put a hand on Jack’s face and shoved, and Jack laughed as he pulled back.

“Damn, those guys are dumb.”

“I think there’s something front with Flint,” Marcus admitted. “The Ohs,” he said, referring to SEP soldiers 01 to 10, “are average. The twenties are kinda scary strong. The forties are bulky. The fifties are all stamina. The sixties are OK, the seventies, you guys are scary perfect, the eighties,” he said and suddenly stopped.

Two weeks into the program all ten of the 80s died of sudden heart failure.

“You nineties are fast, but the thirties? Dumb.”

Marcus snorted. “Wonder if there are other facilities,” he mused and tugged on his collar. “OK, I’m going to admit it, I have no idea how, you know, do we start? What, I mean, look, I’m gonna be honest. I don’t know how to begin.”

Jack reached up and took Marcus’ face in his hands, and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

The first thing Marcus realized was that, yes, he enjoyed this. Last night was not a fluke. The second was that while Gabriel was luxurious and plush like a Lamborghini, Jack was functional and solid like a Volkswagen. Gabriel had a gentleness to his skin, and Jack’s was firmer. 

Jack gripped the back of his shirt by the nape of his neck and hauled it off in one easy motion, something Marcus was never quite able to master. Jack gripped Marcus’ shirt and hauled it over his head, dropping it next to his on the floor.

He ran his hands over Marcus’ chest and back, and Marcus nervously put his hands on Jack’s shoulders. Jack stepped out of his gym shorts, and Marcus pulled back.

“I’ve been informed I do great blowjobs,” he said shyly, and Jack grinned as Marcus knelt. After giving Jack a quick, yet thorough, wash with cool water, he began. Marcus kissed his way down Jacks’ torso, and spent a few moments working at the soft spot just above his groin. While his hand rippled along the inside of Jack’s thighs, he slowly tongued his way down Jacks’ shaft to his head.

He flicked his tongue along the bottom of Jack’s head, and Jack shuddered briefly. Marcus carefully worked his lips around Jack’s head, tenderly kissing and pulling and sucking, and Jack groaned softly.

“Jesus Christ, what do they teach you in Catholic school?” Jack hissed as he dug his fingers into Marcus’ short brown hair. 

Marcus pulled back. “First off, not to use our Lord and savior’s name in vain, you barbarian.” He returned to his work, lavishing his attention on the bottom of Jack’s shaft.

Jack pulled back, though, and took a deep breath. “Condoms. We gotta use condoms.”

“It’s a blow job,” Marcus sighed. He wanted to continue.

“Yeah, really want that mess?” Jack loved getting blow jobs and he liked giving them, but he hated the aftermath. He rolled his condom on and and tossed one to Marcus. “Hey, these have the seat the pulls down!” he grinned, and unlatched the seat, sitting on it. “So, you liked sitting in Gabe’s lap, right?” he asked and pat his thighs. He leaned against the wall and grinned, thrusting his groin out. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Marcus couldn’t help but playfully flick the tip of Jack’s cock as he grew closer.

Jack gripped the offending hand and drew it to his mouth, and while staring Marcus in the eye, started to suck on his fingertips.

Marcus shuddered, but didn’t try to pull back.

“It’s inside out,” Jack said, and pointed to Marcus’ condom. “Lube pockets go on the outside.”

Marcus blushed a little as he turned his back to flip it rightsideout, and Jack laughed and pressed his toes against Marcus’ ass. “Never had nice, self-lubing condoms before.” The sounds of other people entering the showers alarmed him at first, but when Jack didn’t show any worry, Marcus tried to relax.

“Well, makes life easier, doesn’t it?” Jack asked and gripped his cock. He gave a squeeze and a few of the little bubbles with the lube inside burst. “Guess I should have asked you if you wanted this, first.”

“No, it’s fine. I like a good ride in the country.” Marcus stood nervously, and he trailed his hands along Jack’s shoulders and chest. “I just, well, Gabriel was gentle.”

“Yeah, he is, isn’t he? Jack grinned. He stood up and took Marcus’ shoulders and drew him into a kiss. “I learned a lot from him.”

Marcus let himself melt into the kiss, and Jack sucked on his neck a little.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Jack said into Marcus’ ear, breath hot and damp, and Marcus leaned against him. “I’ll be gentle, too.”

Marcus shuddered as Jack gripped his cock and sunk his fingers into Marcus’ ass. He worked against Jack, pushing out when Jack pushed in, and gripped Jack’s shoulders tight. Marcus let himself groan and sink into Jack’s lap. He ground their cocks together as Jack spread his fingers, making him jump, and Jack curled them.

“Up you go!” Jack hissed, and he gripped his cock. After a few strokes the rest of the lotion bubbles were opened and popped, and Marcus licked his lips. “You ready?”

Marcus nodded and he and Jack spent a few moments settling into place. “OK, a little more forward,” Marcus hissed, and Jack pressed against his hole.

Jack slid his arms under Marcus’ knees and lifted, and Marcus gasped as he slid down Jack’s shaft. “You OK?”

“Yeah, good, golden, let’s go,” Marcus groaned, and Jack sunk his teeth into Marcus’ neck.

Jack’s head nestled under Marcus’s chin, and Marcus embraced him. Jack started to move, slowly at first, and Marcus found his rhythm. Their mouths found each other and their hands gripped each other tight, and Marcus found a strange thrill in looking down at Jack. 

He was too busy to think too much about it, though, as Jack’s teeth grazed his chin and neck. His body shuddered as, for the first time, he came from anal alone.

Jack gave several more thrusts before he came to his own satisfaction. He gripped Marcus tight and worked his mouth over his neck and collarbone, holding him close. Jack’s hands caressed Marcus’ back, and they listened to the showers and noises around them.

“You OK?” Jack asked quietly, and Marcus nodded.

“You’re so much stronger than him, but you’re much more kind,” Marcus said quietly. He shifted his thighs and lifted himself off of Jack with a groan of both discomfort and relief. 

Jack continued to cradle him, and Marcus clung tightly. “Hey, we should get showered before we go back.”

Marcus nodded and they both stood up.

  
  
  


“And what’s going on in there?” Rufus Willows grinned.

“I was watching the door,” Jack answered with a shrug. “Floss and his buddies are floating around.”

“I last saw them heading down the the classrooms,” Willows said. “You’re good.”

After Willows clapped Jack’s shoulder and walked away, Marcus stepped a little close. “Thanks for being quiet about it.”

“You’ve got reasons.” Jack elbowed his arm playfully. “I gotta get going. Where are you going next?”

“Shooting range.”

“Great, hey, Reyes!” Jack waved and Gabriel looked up. “I found you a buddy so you don’t get lost on the way to the range!” He lifted Marcus’ hand above his head and waved it around. Neither of them could hear the insult Gabriel muttered, but it was there. “There, buddy system.”

Marcus laughed and tried to pull his hand away.

“You should speak to security or someone,” Jack said quietly. “You gonna be OK?”

“With Reyes? Yes.”

Jack nodded and shoved Marcus towards Gabriel.


	3. Moo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus gets a tiny revenge, and some resistance training.

“I’ve completed my punch card!” Floss was saying loudly in the mess. “I’ve banged all ten 90s!” 

“Someone FINALLY got 98, nice!” Pichelli crowed. “You’re the last to get laid, D’Angelo!” 

Marcus coughed and sputtered, barely covering his mouth in time to prevent him from splattering Sal Martinson with crappy green bean casserole. What gave Floss the right to claim such a thing? Two months of bubbling anger started to brew in him. The general thought was the program took nine months, and Marcus didn’t think he could stand another six months of David Floss. 

“Worst sex I even had, too!” he snapped out loud before he even thought about it. “I mean, WHY did I have to pretend to be a cow?” Wait, what did he just say? 

The entire mess went silent. 

“What did you say?” Floss hissed. 

What DID he just say? Marcus gently put his fork down, then stood up. He climbed onto his seat, turned to face Floss, and put his hands behind his back, thumb working over his index finger. “I SAID,” he snapped, “why did I have to pretend to be a cow?” 

‘Might as well finish what he started,’ he thought to himself and helped this wouldn’t end with him beaten by a beefed-up, over-sexed frat boy with personal space issues. 

“You couldn’t get off unless I mooed when you tried to milk me! And you said I was lucky. Crissy had to baa!” 

Crissy Field, 62, quickly slapped the table. “You insulted my sheep impression!” she snapped loudly, taking any chance to rag on Floss. 

“Hey, he liked my barking,” Jack said and shoved a fork of crappy Salisbury steak into his mouth. “Said I sounded JUST like a golden retriever.” 

“He sucked at milking me,” Musaaid mused. “I tried telling him you can’t milk a camel, but he insisted. And I was a LITTLE insulted he asked me to be a camel. I wanted to be something cool, like a jaguar.” 

“He wanted me to squeal like a pig,” Fatima Fazil, 53, snorted. “I’m Muslim, I’m not being a pig!” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Gabriel said. “He wanted ALL of you to be animals? Not just me? Granted, I got to be a sexy tiger, so I got off easy.” He turned his head and gave a poor impression of a sexy roar. 

“At least I got to be a gorilla,” James Beech, 27, laughed. He quickly became serious. “Waaaait a minute, did you want me to be a gorilla because I’m Black?” 

“Racist, religiously insensitive AND a sexual deviant,” Carlton noted. “Triple threat!” 

By now the entire mess was laughing and making barnyard animal noises. 

Marcus sat down and continued to eat, well aware of Floss’ eyes on his back. He was also aware or the others at his table glaring back. 

“You talk to security?” Jack asked quietly. They didn’t have the usual military police or security. Hell, they didn’t even have windows! SEP was a world of its own. 

“They seem content to let their experiment run its course,” Marcus muttered. 

“OK, here’s the plan,” Gabriel said and slapped the table. “Marcus doesn’t move alone. Betty doesn’t move alone.” Betty Leeds, SEP 91, was also a favorite target for Floss’ unwelcome advances. “You guys see 32, 35, and 38, you make sure those idiots aren’t looking at anyone. Especially 32. Got that?” 

“Agreed,” they all said as one. 

Marcus was fast. He lapped Jack again and kept going.

Jack was a little envious at his speed, but he prided himself with outpacing 92, 94 and 96. The serums were dolled out in batches of ten, so each series of them had similar abilities. There were so many rumors and ideas floating around he didn’t know which ones to believe, if any, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

Now that Floss and his cronies were being closer monitored people were relaxing, and Marcus was becoming more friendly. Jack enjoyed having him bounce in his lap last week, and he wouldn’t mind having another round.

The sex was also calming down. Maybe they could be the Soldier Enhancement Program again, and not the Sexually Experienced People. Most of their bodies had settled and condoms, once in high demand, were slowly crashing as a local currency. Condiment packets were quickly catching up.

Still, Jack and Gabriel indulged each other, and Jack wanted to indulge Marcus again, as well as a few others. Could he just ask the shy man? He had seen Marcus eyeing him. Jack knew Marcus was conflicted, and wondered if he could help. Couldn’t hurt to offer, could it?

Jack jogged a little faster and when Marcus came around again, managed to match his speed. “Hey,” he said with a wave. “Got a minute?” He waved off to the side, and the two left the track. “I was wondering if I could steal you away tonight before dinner? I think we’ve both got free time.” Jack took a water bottle from the cooler and handed it to Marcus.

“Sure, I could use a change of plans.” Marcus cracked his water and took a drink. “Before dinner during free period, then.”

  
  


Marcus had showered and pulled on his best track suit. None of them had any clothes aside their sweat suits and work out gear, really, save for the combat gear for training. Still, Marcus wanted to look nice.

His hair was coming back quite nicely, though it might get buzzed again with his next round of injections. How long was that going to last? Were they almost done injecting random chemicals into their bodies? At least they didn’t have the I.V.s anymore.

The first month was hell, and Marcus didn’t miss it.

There was a knock on the door and he grinned, despite himself. He wondered what Jack had in mind, and opened the door.

The punch to the gut stole his breath, and the bag over his head didn’t help any.

Shit.

Resistance training.

He had heard rumors that several SEPs had been snagged earlier in the week for torture training, but he didn’t expect them to be true.

Marcus was more upset, though, that he wouldn’t be there to explain to Jack.

  
  


“Well, this _is_ a change of plans,” Marcus muttered to himself as someone slammed him into a chair. His arms were locked behind him and the bag on his head ripped off.

The light was amazingly bright and he gave a strangled cry as he turned away, screwing his eyes shut as hard as he could.

“SEP 98.” The garbled voice from an ancient intercom system grated on his ears. “Open your eyes.”

“Not gonna happen,” he snapped, “until you turn the light off.” Was it safe to be talking back during a fake torture session?

“SEP 98. Open your eyes.”

The light dimmed, and Marcus slowly turned to face it. The screamingly bright light returned, and Marcus turned his head away. The light faded and he was suddenly in darkness.

“SEP 98, track the light.”

Marcus didn’t want to obey the voice, but he knew things were go easier if he did so. He slowly opened his eyes and saw a blinking light on the wall. He moved his head, following the dots that lit up on panels on the wall.

“Test complete.”

The room slowly lit up, and Marcus sighed, confused. Two men in masks walked in, and Marcus eyes each of them.

“Hey, 28. Hey, Rick.” They were wearing riot gear, but their face plates were transparent.

Both men paused. “How?” 28, Eric Wayne, started to ask.

75, Rick Holme, nudged 28 in the side.

Marcus shrugged, then examined them again. It occurred to him they weren’t wearing clear face plates at all, but tinted ones. How could he see through them?

The weird underwater voice returned. “Test complete. 28, 75, return.”

“Was I not supposed to talk to them?” Marcus asked. “I’m getting the feeling I wasn’t supposed to be talking to them.” His nerves were showing, he guessed, as he started babbling a little.

“SEP 98, be silent.”

“I’ll try.” He sat there, waiting, wondering when dinner was. Was he going to miss dinner? He’d miss Jack, that was for sure. Eventually he starting humming softly to himself, then popped his lips. How much time had passed?

“SEP 98, be silent.”

“Sorry, working on it.” Marcus wasn’t sure, but he was certain someone sighed. He decided now was as good a time as any, so he ran his right thumb over his index finger, and began to say his daily rosary in his head.

He was on his second decade when the voice returned.

“SEP 98! Be! Silent!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he said quickly as he clenched his hand. “Just got a little carried away, it’s Thursday, you know. The Joyful Mysteries. I like Thursdays.” He had started saying it out loud, using Latin as he learned so long ago.

“98.”

“Be silent.” Marcus nodded quickly. “Got it, got it.”

The silence lasted for some time, and Marcus continued with his Hail Marys. Finally someone entered, wearing a solid helmet, and knelt by his side.

“Hi. Name’s Marcus.”

“SEP 98 be silent.” The voice had a different tone, and Marcus guessed it was a different person. How long had been been here? The rosary normally only took about twenty minutes to say, and he was just past half way done, but the timing felt off. How long before he started?

“Sorry!”

The man took Marcus’ right hand and examined it. “Nothing.”

“Oh, I don’t have my rosary with me,” Marcus explained. “I’m just counting.”

The man looked up to him.

Marcus tapped his thumb along his finger. “You don’t need the beads-”

The garbled voice returned. “SEP 98.”

“All right, all right, be silent, I know!” he snapped back, and the man left.

The lights turned off, and Marcus didn’t hear anything for a few minutes. Finally, he finished his third decade.

 _“Observing the law of Moses they take Jesus to the temple to present Him to the Lord,”_ he muttered in Latin, or at least tried to. The harsh light returned, blinding him, and he screwed his eyes shut and tried to press his face into his shoulder. Once his pained groans died down the light faded.

He had an idea. “Lights,” he said quietly, and the lights faintly glowed. “LIGHTS!” he shouted, and they flooded the room. “Got it, got it,” he muttered. “Be quiet.”

After his fourth Hail Mary the man in the solid mask returned, and Marcus felt him grip his hand. He sandwiched Marcus’ hand between two plastic plates and taped them together, leaving his hand flat and open.

“I’m almost done, don’t worry about me,” he said quietly, but the man ignored him. Marcus continued to babble quietly about his wooden rosary, just to keep the light on. Once he left, Marcus shut up. He finished his rosary and came to a halt. He thought about starting a new rosary, but he didn’t know if he could muster the energy. The lack of noise and light was draining.

He didn’t know what time it was.

He was thirsty.

He was hungry.

And he missed what might have been a hot date with the hottest blond hottie he had the hots for.

Eventually the normal lights returned and a nurse entered. “Hey, hi, I’m Marcus,” he started, the she turned and left. “Got it, got it, shut up.”

The darkness and quiet was everything.

He didn’t know what time it was.

He was thirsty.

He was hungry.

Did he sleep? It felt like he slept.

From time to time he would hum, activating the light for a short period of time, trying to see if anything in the room changed.

It hadn’t.

After a while the nurse returned, quietly gave him his injection, and left.

Eventually the door opened again, and two men walked in.

Marcus looked up to them, and the two men leaned against the wall.

“Yeah, so I told the waiter at that Italian place not to bother, I’d just make some when I got home,” the one on the left said.

“How’d that turn out? Was it hard?” his friend asked.

Marcus watched, somewhat confused.

“Well, I boiled the stuff, it just splattered everywhere. I didn’t know polenta was so volatile!”

“Oh, you need a deep pot,” Marcus offered, but the painful light rose. He groaned and looked away. “Got it, got it, shut up.”

The two mean continued as if he weren’t there.

Marcus didn’t realize how deeply that stabbed his heart.

He sat there in the dark, listening to two men talk.

It made him tremendously lonely.

“Hey, buddy!” one of the men finally asked, and clapped his shoulder. “How you holding up?”

How much time had passed? “Not too bad,” Marcus started to answer, and the lights returned. It was like staring into the sun! Why did it hurt so much?

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

Marcus nodded quickly. He was tired and done and ready to go to bed.

“Hey, who all you shack up with? Besides Floss?” the other guard asked.

“Never slept with Floss. Just wanted him to shut up,” Marcus said quietly enough the walls barely glowed.

“C’mon, never? Everyone knows you and 24 were locked in the closet for about two hours! Nothing happened?” the first guard asked. “What, you hiding your sex life from someone?”

“I never cheated on him,” Marcus said quietly. “He’s good to me.”

“Look, all you gotta do is tell us how it was.” The second guard squatted near Marcus. “What’s he like, under all that grim dark edge lord facade?”

“Yeah, just fess up. How was it?”

Marcus remained quiet.

The second guard shoved his shoulder. “Just make something up. Hand job? A bit of the rubby rubby? In da butt? Tell us one thing, we’ll let you go.”

“I never cheated on him.”

“Hey, just one thing. One detail. What’s 24 smell like?” the first guard asked.

Marcus remained quiet. This was training, after all.

As the pair pestered him, Marcus screwed his eyes shut. “I didn’t sleep with Gabe!” he shouted, flooding the room with light.

“OK, yeah, we know,” one of the guards said in a comforting voice. “You’re Catholic, you wouldn’t do something to wrong in the closet of the chapel. You’re a good kid.”

Marcus’ heart stopped.

“You just can’t leave until you give us something.”

Marcus was tired of SEP. He was tired of Floss. He was tired of combat training. He was tired of resistance training. Why did he need resistance training? The ‘bots took no prisoners!

“No. I never cheated on him.”

“Cheated on who?” one of them asked. He pulled out a water bottle and gave Marcus a drink. “C’mon, who’s your boyfriend?”

Marcus felt his blood run cold. How could he tell them who his lover was? It would cost both of them their careers, and Hunt’s wife, what would happen to her? How did this happen? Marcus wondered if they already knew and were just testing him.

The two men continued to pester him, poking, prodding, flashing with lights, and Marcus realized just how hungry he was. He was feeling nauseated, and he realized he had missed a treatment. How long was he here? He got injections every other day.

Jack would know he wasn’t there, and that it wasn’t his fault.

Marcus swallowed. “John. His name is John,” he lied.

“No it isn’t,” the guard on his left said with the most conviction ever. “What’s his name.” He gripped Marcus’ hair above his ear and gave him some more water.

Marcus’ guts went cold.

“We need a name, D’Angelo. Who’s your man back home?”

“Yeah, who’s waiting for you?” the other asked.

When he didn’t answer, the guards went back to ignoring him.

The guards left.

The guards returned.

The guards ignored him.

As they went to leave again Marcus realized just how weak he was. “Rick. He goes by Rick.”

It was a safe enough truth. They didn’t know it was Hunt’s middle name. Lots of Patricks went by Rick. It couldn’t be used against him.

“C’mon, buddy, you’re free to go. Let’s get you hydrated and back into rotation.”

Marcus felt like he failed as they released his right hand from its plastic prison and helped him stand.

  
  


Rehydrating had taken some time. Marcus had his injections, some soup and calorie bars, and a stint with a counselor, bit it was more of a debriefing. It startled him just how clearly he could see under the new lights, and he flicked his eyes over the nurse’s glasses, reading the page she was reading. “98 - ultraviolet light vision,” he muttered to himself. Wait, he could see ultraviolet light? Wasn’t that sunlight?

Dr. Khan then pointed out they now knew how to break him, and thus, they knew what to work on. He was given his injection, signed the usual non-disclosure agreement and was cut loose.

Marcus made his way to his room, slept, then made his way to the mess.

He took his food and sat down, and the others bombarded him with questions.

Gabriel got between Marcus and the others and took his shoulders. “Marcus? How are you? What happened?” His broad shoulders blocked the others.

“So, um, resistance. Crap, not suppose to talk about it. Not supposed to say it. Sorry, just, sorry.” He tapped his thumb against his index finger. “Got an NDA. Signed it.”

Gabriel tilted his head up. “You were gone three days.”

“I’m twentyone! I don’t need this!” Marcus hissed.

“You’re twentyone,” Gabriel pointed out, “and it took them three days.”

Marcus wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He grabbed Gabriel’s hands when he pulled them from his shoulders, then let go. “Sorry. Just. Sorry.”

“Let me guess,” Jack said and gestured with his spoon. “They ignored you.”

Marcus nodded. “I never knew that would hurt like that. But I should have.” He leaned into Gabriel when Gabriel tried to pull away, then blushed. “Sorry!”

Gabriel slung and arm around him. “Isolation is terrible. Damn, you’re so cold!”

“I can see ultraviolet light now,” Marcus said in an offhand voice. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” He sniffed. “They didn’t want me to talk.” He leaned into Gabriel and sighed.

“Eat your crappy fried chicken, mijo,” Gabriel urged, but didn’t make Marcus sit up.

  
  


“You gonna be OK?” Jack asked as they made sure Marcus made it back to his room. Carlton was away, and Marcus figured he had his own resistance session going on.

Gabriel gave Marcus’ shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll sit with you a little while.”

“Thanks.” Marcus realized their rooms were woefully ill equipped for entertaining. The rooms were large enough for two beds, their desks, and some walking room. “I guess I didn’t know how small our rooms are.” He slid his slippers off and put them against his trunk, and he stood in the middle of the room.

Gabriel walked up to him and held him close, and Marcus embraced him. “C’mon, let’s get you warmed up.” Gabriel took Marcus’ face in his warm hands and pulled him into a deep kiss.

Marcus eagerly returned the kiss, and slung his arm around Gabriel's neck. He hauled himself up and Gabriel gripped Marcus’ ass, helping to stabilize him. Marcus was willing to scale him like a tree if he needed to. “What,” Marcus asked as he came up for breath, “what about Jack?”

“You wanna sleep with him, too?” Gabriel asked slyly, and Marcus blushed. “Jack, get in here.”

Jack was already stripping his pants off, and he lay on the bed. “Come on,” Jack grinned. He rubbed his thighs, then slapped his belly a few times.

Both Gabriel and Marcus pulled their clothes off, and Marcus opened his trunk. “Hang on, I’ve got the condoms this time.” He rooted under his condiment stash and Gabriel whistled.

“Damn man, you’re rich! Jackie, the guy’s got about eighteen soy sauce packets in here!”

“I always wanted to bang a millionaire,” the blond laughed.

Marcus smiled and pulled out a box. “Here we go.” He flicked one towards Jack, who caught and put it on, and held out out to Gabriel.

Gabriel covered Marcus’ hand with his own and hauled him up.

Marcus let himself be lifted, and he pressed himself into Gabriel’s chest.

“You don’t get a lot of skin-to-skin contact, do you, Esmeraldo?” Gabriel asked. He let Marcus hold him for a bit. “C’mon, up you go.”

Marcus felt small next to the pair, but as he straddled Jack’s hips, he never once felt endangered. He leaned against Gabriel when he joined Marcus on Jack’s legs, and Gabriel wrapped his hands around Marcus’ chest.

Gabriel started to rub his shaft against the cleft of Marcus’ ass, and Marcus adjusted himself. “Here, move forward a bit,” Gabriel hissed, and Marcus obeyed. Once he was in position Gabriel pressed two fingers inside him.

Marcus let Jack take his hands as he started to grind against Jack. He groaned when Gabriel kissed his neck, and rotated his head so Gabriel could kiss him. Marcus let Gabriel push him forward, and he raised his hips. He almost lost his balance, but Jack held him steady.

Gabriel tilted Marcus’ hips and pressed against his asshole. “You ready, mi joya?” he asked, and Marcus nodded. Gabriel slowly inserted himself, the self-lubricating condom releasing its gel, and he returned to Marcus’ ear. “You’re doing great, Marcus, just fantastic.”

The three found their rhythm and continued to rock. “You’re so tight, you’re so good at this,” Gabriel continued. “Look at you, keeping your balance like a pro. Keeping up with us. You’re doing so well.” He continued to hold Marcus close to his chest as he praised him, and Marcus tried to soak up as much skin contact as possible.

He turned his head so Gabriel continued to kiss him, holding him tightly. He gripped Jack’s hands tight, and gasped when Jack shifted his hips.

“You like that?” Jack grinned. He was having a good time, but his legs were quickly losing circulation. He would be able to carry Marcus for some time, but Gabriel was not a light man. “C’mon, let’s mix it up a bit.” Jack pulled his right hand free and gripped both of their cocks.

Marcus gripped one of Gabriel’s hands and held tight, trying to hold on. His breathing became ragged and sharp, and he pressed himself back against Gabriel and began to rock harder. He started to sing in Italian, a soft, joyfill sound.

Jack’s fingers started to ripple, and Gabriel gripped one of Marcus’ knees and lifted, plunging deeper.

Marcus leaned back, unable to do anything but enjoy the overwhelming sensations, and his world was nothing but a white light and warm comfort.

“You should really see his face, Gabe!” Jack laughed and rolled his thumb over Marcus’ head. “So blissed out. You ever pet a cat so good he starts drooling?” He pulled his other hand free and ran it over the inside of Marcus’ thigh, listening to him babble in Italian. “And he can’t even speak English anymore.”

Gabriel continued to rock and hiss praises in Marcus’ ear. He grinned with Marcus took a long, shuddering breath and his entire body shook with ecstasy.

Marcus leaned back, limp, against Gabriel’s chest. It took everything he had not to pass out and sleep right then and there as his entire body quaked with exhaustion. “Mi hai rovinato, mi hai rovinato. Non posso tornare a Hunt. Non sarà mai più lo stesso,” he sighed, and winced as Gabriel pulled out. “Sei così gentile, sei entrambi così meraviglioso.”

Gabriel cradled Marcus and held him close, whispering kind things to him.

After a minute or two, Jack shifted his hips. “Hey, Gabe, I like this and all,” Jack said and kicked a little, “but I can’t feel my legs. And I need a fresh condom.”

Gabriel smirked and helped Marcus stand.

Marcus’ legs gave out briefly so he sat back on the bed, and Jack stood. “New condoms. Left side,” he said in a dreamy tone.

Jack planted one leg on the bed and stretched while Gabriel got the fresh condoms. Once Marcus got comfortable, Jack sat on the bed, back to Marcus, and lay backwards, resting his shoulders in Marcus’ lap. “You are not as soft as Gabriel,” he muttered and wriggled, getting comfortable.

“He is rather plush,” Marcus admitted. “Very comfortable.”

“How many salsa packages do you NEED, mijo?” Gabriel snapped as he lifted a handful. They trickled through his fingers and he quickly put them back in order. “You have the tidiest trunk since Jack.”

“No need to be messy,” Marcus said and gently pet Jack’s temples.

Jack closed his eyes and settled a little more. “Little harder,” he said quietly, and Marcus started to work his fingers into Jack’s hairline. “Ah, that’s better!” He gave a surprised yelp as Gabriel hefted his legs, though, and slung Jack’s knees over his shoulders.

Gabriel had given himself a fresh condom, and slid a fresh one on Jack, lotion on the inside. “Ready, sunshine?” he asked, and Jack tilted his hips. Gabriel plunged deep and Jack gripped the sheets.

“You’re fine, you’re doing great,” Marcus said quietly, and Jack grunted as Gabriel settled.

Gabriel started to thrust, gentle at first, but gained strength and speed as he continued. He gripped Jack’s cock and gave a murderous squeeze and Jack bucked under him.

As the blond continued to writhe, Marcus continued to speak softly in Italian and massage his temples. Jack’s body jumped under Gabriel’s ministrations, finally giving in to pleasure, and he groaned as Gabriel gave a few more hearty thrusts.

Exhausted, all three cuddled up together and slept.

Marcus was warm, and he heard the door open and shut. The light turned on and Marcus grumbled. He was sleeping on Gabriel, with Jack nestled close in the twin bed.

“Of course. Of fucking course,” Carlton sighed.

Jack rolled over and buried his head in Marcus’ neck.

“Hey, hey, you guys, lights out soon.” He slapped Jack’s shoulder and shook Gabriel by his arm. “Go sleep in your own beds.” Carlton groaned. “The entire place reeks of sex. Hey, Marcus, hey.”

Marcus made a non-committal sound.

“I’m taking some salsa for my eggs tomorrow, since you made the place reek of sex.”

“Not my green sauce,” he sighed and hauled Gabriel close. “Take the devil sauce. You like the devil sauce.”

Carlton opened Marcus’ trunk. “I’m taking three. One for each of you.” Carlton changed clothes, not bothering to be modest, turned off the lights and crawled into his own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marcus' Italian while blissed out -  
> "You ruined me, you ruined me. I can not go back to Hunt. It will never be the same again."
> 
> "You're so kind, you're both so wonderful."
> 
> please excuse my Google translate


	4. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Floss brings up several points about Marcus' history, but the others still stand by him.

Gabriel’s back was against the wall. He cradled Marcus sideways, holding the slender man’s knees folded to his chest, and kissed him deeply as he thrust his hips. “You’re doing so well, Marcus, you’re doing fantastic.” Gabriel adjusted his hips and grinned. “Marcus, you’re so gorgeous like this, all bound up, bouncing on my cock. No one feels like you do, Marcus, only you make me feel this way.” He press their mouths together again.

Marcus groaned into his mouth and squeezed his arms around Gabriel’s neck in pleasure.

It turned out Marcus had a praise kink.

In the gun range Gabriel had complimented his form with the rifle, swatted his ass, and called him a good boy.

Marcus had blushed deep red so quickly Justice Fort, SEP 13, almost called a medic over. He let Gabriel lead him to the supply closest, and he quickly embraced Gabriel and let his intentions be known.

The sex craze had died down, but everyone was still had a healthy libedo, and Gabriel enjoyed how enthusiastic Marcus was. Movement caught Gabriel’s attention and he glared at the opening door. His eyes met Floss’ and he continued to thrust. “You’re so soft and warm, Marcus, just the way I like it. Are you having a good time?”

Marcus could only nod, eyes shut as he tucked his face into Gabriel’s neck.

“Let me know how you’re doing, Esmeraldo.”

“So good, it feels so good!” Marcus hissed. “Don’t stop!”

Gabriel gave a few uneven thrusts just to make Marcus gasp. “It’s because you’re doing so well, mi joya. You’re so beautiful, impaled like this.”

Floss could hardly disguise the anger on his face as he stomped off, and someone shut the door after him. The door opened, someone gave Gabriel a thumbs up, and the door shut again.

  
  
  


Marcus almost slept through the crappy chicken and noodles; Gabriel had completely and utterly exhausted him. He clung to Musaaid’s arm, drooling on the 21 patch. “Is he always this damp when he sleeps?” Musaaid said and prodded Marcus on the temple. Everyone knew by now, but no one was going to mention Marcus’ sex life until he did. “Come on, you, up, up! Eat your awful supper. Here, you take him.” Musaaid gave Marcus a shove and he sat up, and he shoved Marcus again.

Marcus ended up on Jack’s shoulder. 

“Why do I get him when he’s drooling?” he sighed and shook his arm. “C’mon, Angel Eyes, up.”

Marcus yawned and stretched, then pulled his food closer. He shoveled a fork into his mouth and grimaced.

“You OK?” James Beech, 27, asked, and Marcus nodded. “You look a little, you know, tired.”

“He had a long training session,” Gabriel boasted. 

The others all made scandalous noises and laughed.

“Not like that!” Gabriel scolded in an angry tone. “With my shotgun,” he said in a neutral voice.

The noises started again.

“Hey, I got a question.” 

Everyone groaned when Floss leaned a hand on the table.

“Damn, the food was just not smelling horrible, too,” Crissy complained.

“What’s he doing here?” Floss asked and pointed to Marcus.

“I’m eating dinner,” Marcus said and pointed to his plate. He gave a sniff and winced. “I think it’s chicken.”

“No, not here here, why are you in SEP?” Floss clarified. “Me, I’m a Navy SEAL. Pichelli, too. Flint’s a green beret. Musaaid there has eight years of combat medic training. You,” he said and pointed at Marcus, “are twenty-one. You’re in an administrative position with recruiting. You know who’s the next youngest? Vincent Lee, at twenty-four, one tour of combat.” Floss pointed to Jack. “Then Morrison, a few weeks older. After that, it skips to twenty-six years to thirty.”

The others glared at him. 

“In case you didn’t notice,” Jack snapped, “Marcus here passed marksmanship with flying colors. He’s as good as Gabriel.”

“He’s small, young, and weak. How did he get into SEP?” Floss demanded. “He pushed papers for a recruitment office!”

Marcus stammered, trying to think of what to say, and Floss continued, speaking over a protesting Gabriel.

“We were all tall before we got here. I was five ten walking in. How tall were you, 98, before you got here?”

“Um, five six, rounded up,” he admitted.

“And scrawny, too, I bet. How did you beat the weigh in? I mean, from the looks of you, you can’t have weighed much.”

“I, I weighed in!” Marcus insisted. “By a few pounds, too!”

“I’m guessing you just barely scraped by,” Floss said with a nod. “My guess is they wanted to see how small they could go and still get a viable subject. And who’s going to miss the secretary?”

Marcus cast his eyes down as Gabriel stood up.

“That’s enough, 32.” He glared at Floss. “The man’s fluent in three languages. He’s passed all of the written exams with some of the highest scores. He’s as great a shot with a rifle as I’ve ever seen. He’s earned his place with us.” There was no doubt in his voice, only solid conviction.

Marcus wish he felt the same way.

He didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself, though, since he, along with five others, was summoned to Command Finn’s office.

  
  
  


Marcus, Jack, Gabriel, Pichelli, Musaaid and Crissy entered the office. “Lady and gentlemen, thank you for arriving so quickly,” Commander Finn said and nodded as she looked them over. She was a compact woman who had to look up to talk to Marcus, but held command of the room the entire time.

“You six have been hand-picked to represent your division in a competition of sorts. Reyes will be team leader. At oh seven-hundred tomorrow morning you will be geared up and be delivered to an undisclosed location. Mission information will be released when you enter the field. Report to medical for a checkup, then the quartermaster for supplies. Dismissed.”

They all saluted, turned, and left.

“Well, a mission!” Marcus said and took a deep breath. “We get to go outside!” He suddenly froze. “Where all the UV light is. The UV light that I can now see, and the reason I have to go to the 60-70 bathrooms. The lights in the 80-90 hall hurt my eyes.” While Jack slowed his pace, the others kept going, and Marcus jogged every few steps to keep up. “Which I’m not supposed to talk about, since I signed a non-talking-disclosing paper.”

“Marcus, breathe!” Gabriel laughed. He looked back over his shoulder at the shorted man. “You’ll be fine. I’m putting you in a support position.”

“I can handle myself!” Marcus insisted, and Pichelli barked a laugh. “I’m serious!” Marcus snapped as he took a few more jogging steps. “I took out Jack in combat!”

“Best out of seven doesn’t count, short stack.”

“No personal remarks,” Gabriel scolded lightly. “We’re going to have to be a team. They picked the best of us, we’ve got to act like it.”

“Why not Floss then?” Pichelli asked. “He’s better than I am.”

“I would rather eat glass than work with the guy who keeps trying to rape me,” Marcus said darkly.

“He does have,” Jack said in a safe tone, “personality conflicts with several people.”

Pichelli had no argument there, and followed the others into the waiting medical wing.

  
  
  


Marcus hefted a dark brown coat out his kit and admired it. “This is really nice,” Marcus muttered and hauled it on. 

“Why’s 98’s gear different?” Pichelli asked as he prodded the coat. The others had armored jackets.

“Because I’m Catholic.”

“Guy’s too small for SEP stuff,” the quartermaster said. “Didn’t have time to special order for him, he’s using some old gear. Only stuff that’s up to specs isn’t black, though.”

“Here, put this on,” Jack said and held out his armored vest. “It’ll be hilarious.”

“I‘m not a fashion doll!” Marcus protested.

“It would be kinda funny,” Massaid said and he adjusted his shoulder straps. “Just for a minute.”

“No.” Marcus hauled the long coat shut. It actually fit around the shoulders, and he rolled his arms and twisted his waist. “It actually fits! Nothing ever fits!”

“You had no muscles before,” Jack teased. “You must have been a head on a stick.”

“Well, the coat’s too big for everyone else,” the quartermaster added. “And too small for the big guys.”

“Meant to be, I suppose.” Marcus flipped the collar up and felt the soft lining. “We’re just two guys out of place in this world. But one of us is a coat.”

“Here, do this.” Gabriel unbuttoned the strap at the back, letting out the pleat. “Built in blanket.”

“And you’re sure that doesn’t come in my size?” Jack asked wistfully. “OK, when I’m ruling the world I’m getting three special made just for me. In blue.”

Gabriel laughed. “That’ll be the day!”

The quartermaster gestured to the weapons crate along the wall. “And your weapons.”

They eagerly opened opened the crates and inspected their gear.

Marcus pulled out a sniper rifle kit and quickly assembled it, and he looked over to Pichelli. “What? You’re looking at me funny.”

“I just had this image of you as this kid.”

“Me, too,” Marcus said quietly. 

“But here you are, a sniper. Top of your class. Combat training. Tomorrow morning we’re going out and you’re going to shoot at another human being.” Pichelli pulled out some tonfa, gave them a few test twirls, and replaced them. “I mean, it’s a training mission, but still, have you ever done this before?”

“I’m not quite as innocent as you think.” Marcus examined his sidearm, and Gabriel appreciated his form. He quickly assembled, disassembled, and stowed the handgun. “I’m a Marine, and don’t forget it.” Marcus said it more for himself than them, and he pulled out his communicator. On the side, in small print, was his call sign, Angel Eyes. He nodded and made sure it fit over his new goggles. This was real.

“OK, let’s get some shut eye,” Gabriel said and cracked his back.

  
  
  


“And where are you off to, mi joya?” Gabriel asked as Marcus turned to follow him down the hall. “As of now, I am your commanding officer, and relations are not a good idea. Unless you want to get court martialed, that is.”

Marcus’ light brown face paled. 

“You OK?” Gabriel asked, and Marcus nodded.

Whatever had been bothering Marcus, it was starting to bother Gabriel. The man was nervous and secretive about his previous lover, and Gabriel took a long, hard look at him.

“D’Angelo.” 

The use of Marcus’ last name suddenly drove home the fact Gabriel was serious, and Marcus stood up straight.

“We need to have a talk. Come on.” Gabriel turned and led Marcus to an empty office, and he shut the door. 

“I won’t ask again, sir,” Marcus said quickly. 

“No, it’s not about that. Take a seat.” Gabriel knew how to interrogate, and how to gently coax. “I’m worried, Marcus. You’ve been evasive, you’ve been quiet, you’ve been nervous.”

Marcus suddenly stiffened.

“Please, are you in trouble?” Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need help?”

Marcus was quiet.

“You know, once we’re out of here, we’re not going back to where we were. We’ll be on SEP compliant bases, we won’t be housed with other units. Not right away. There’s time, if you need time to deal with him.”

“You don’t understand.” Marcus controlled his breathing.

“He’s good to you, I know, you’ve said it before. Why don’t you tell me about him? What’s he like? What’s his hair-”

“You don’t understand,” Marcus interrupted. “It’s, it’s complicated.”

Gabriel tilted Marcus’ eyes up. “Then explain. Slowly. Carefully. How did you meet?”

“I was sixteen.”

Gabriel was able to keep his frozen gut from plummeting out his ass.

“And he was good to me. The only one who talked to me. The only one who, who, when I turned seventeen, he got me a jacket. He was, look, Gabriel, I’m Catholic. I’m gay. He was the only one who,” Marcus paused and took a few deep breaths. “I know it’s a mistake, but, he, and now, I’m trapped. In this relationship. I can’t, I don’t know how. To leave.”

“You don’t have to go back. In fact, and I’m sorry to say this, you might not even be able to.” Gabriel leaned back and considered Marcus.

Gabriel had his abuela. Her only concern was that he got the right brand of coffee and took his shoes off in her house. His parents, while upset at first, had tried to set him up with the Salinas boy down the street a few days later. His sister was angry, but only because she had competition now.

Who did Marcus have? 

“You had no support, and you went with the first friendly face.”

Marcus nodded mutely. “I was stupid, I know.”

“You weren’t stupid, Marcus. You were inexperienced and lonely. There’s a difference.” Gabriel absently pet Marcus’ shoulder. “Has he ever hurt you?” When Marcus didn’t answer, Gabriel nodded. “Well, now he can’t hurt you. You might be small for SEP, but you’re stronger and faster than anyone else. And I know you can raise hell. We’re going to do this training mission, and you’re going to see just how strong you are. Can you be strong for me?”

Marcus nodded.

“Good. Get to bed. Yours or Jack’s, I don’t care. Just be ready at oh six hundred.”

“Yes sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Marcus saluted and Gabriel watched him leave. What the hell had the kid gotten himself into? Gabriel scolded himself. Marcus was not a kid. He was a Marine with sniper training and a growing combat skill. Marcus might be a little naive, but he wasn’t a child.

And, just like Gabriel thought, he went straight to Jack’s room.

Marcus knocked, and Jack opened the door. 

Jack leaned against the frame and looked down at him. “What can I do for you, Mr. D’Angelo?”

“I heard your roomie was out and thought you might need some company.”

“Issat so?” Jack asked, and tugged Marcus inside by the front of his shirt and shut the door. “Matt’s got his own training mission, won’t be back for a while.” He laughed as Marcus stood in the middle of the room, looking a little smaller than normal in his sweatshirt. “Still don’t know how to be sexy and seduce someone, do you?”

“So far it’s been the other way around,” Marcus admitted. 

“Well, give it a try. Seduce me.” Jack grinned at Marcus’ blush. “Just, think about what would turn you on and try it on me.”

Marcus swallowed and blushed.

“C’mon, try it. Treat me how you want to be treated. Golden rule and all that. That’s a Catholic thing, isn’t it?”

“I think,” Marcus said is a slow voice, “you’re fantastic. You’re so lovely, I could just look at you and never go hungry.” He gently placed a hand on Jack’s chest and felt his heartbeat. “I just want to touch you, and be close with you, and listen.” Marcus pulled himself close and hauled off Jack’s undershirt. He placed his lips over Jack’s heart, not really kissing, then carefully traced his fingertips over Jack’s chest. Marcus pressed gently, and Jack sat on his bed. He was quiet and gentle, soft and slow, as he mouthed his way down to Jack’s waistline.

Jack let him slide his pants and boxers down, a little giddy himself as he handed Marcus a condom. Who knew he was such a romantic?

Marcus carefully rolled it on, lotion on the inside, and carefully worked his tongue around Jack’s head. His fingers carefully massaged the base of Jacks’ shaft, the soft skin between his navel and crotch, the inside of his thighs, everywhere but his cock. His fingertips ghosted along his balls, and Jack had to resist simply thrusting into his mouth.

Whoever told him he gave great blowjobs wasn’t kidding.

Jack leaned back and slung a leg over Marcus’ shoulder. He let Marcus adjust his hips for him and gave a pleased groan. It felt like Marcus was swallowing him whole! “God damn you’re so good at this!” he hissed.

Marcus pulled back and worked his hand up and down Jack’s shaft. “Are you going to blaspheme the entire time we’re sinning?” he asked as he rippled his fingers.

“What, do they add up or something?” Jack said with a laugh. He ran his hands through Marcus’ short hair and guided him back to his cock.

“I hate to think how long confession is going to take,” Marcus muttered as he wrapped his lips around Jack’s head again. His fingers breached Jack’s ass and Jack hummed in appreciation. He could hear Marcus hissing at him in Italian, and while part of him wondered what he was saying, the other half loved the slow, steady pressure and heat he provided between comments.

Jack leaned back and let Marcus engulf him again. He rolled his hips and bucked a little, trying to control himself. He could feel Marcus pressing down on his hips, and Jack gripped the sheets. 

Gabriel’s mouth was warm and fierce, but Marcus was gentle and stable. Jack felt the fires burn slowly in him, the poetry of Marcus’ tongue fanning the flames gently. One hand continued to work his ass, and the other assisted his mouth, stroking Jack’s cock or thumbing his head while Marcus rest his jaw.

“God, I just want to cum inside you,” Jack hissed, and he felt Marcus pull away. “Sorry, sorry, blasphemy, I know. C’mon, up here.” Jack sat up and crossed his legs, and pulled Marcus into his lap.

Marcus resisted, but quickly settled in Jack’s legs.

“You don’t want anal tonight, do you?” Jask asked quietly, and Marcus shook his head. “Well, c’mon, cowboy, saddle up.”

“Morrison.” Marcus caught the condom Jack flicked at him. “Morrison.” It was tricky to get the condom to sit right while Jack was laughing. 

“Hey, hey, you were born in Italy, right?” Jack asked and ran his thumbs over Marcus’ chest.

“Yeah, in Rome. What’s your point?” Marcus knew what his point was.

“Well, then, pilgrim, you know all about spaghetti westerns, then!” Jack grinned while doing a horrible John Wayne impression. “Oh, c’mon, Marcus, c’mon, I’m sorry, come on back.” Jack pulled Marcus back down and Marcus let him. “I won’t do it again. Honest.” He gently tugged, and Marcus let him kiss him. He burst into laughter again. “No, no, I’m done, I’m done.”

“You sure?” Marcus asked, and Jack nodded. “All right.” Marcus connected their hips and began to grind.

Jack lazily gripped Marcus’ cock and stroked, and leaned back, lazy pleasure on his face. Sure, there was something great about being rocked by Gabriel, fast and hectic and pounding, but there was also something great about a slow and easy grind.

They moves slowly, adjusting pace and pressure, Jack constantly pulling Marcus in for kisses, but still, Jack came first.

“You’re so good at this,” Jack whispered as his hand continued to work. Jack moved Marcus’ hips, keeping him grinding despite his finishing. Sometimes it just felt good to continue, despite the sensations. He looked up at Marcus’ face, peaceful yet intense. “You’re really easy to look at, you know.” Jack grinned at the blush forming. “Your eyes are amazing, do you ever wear make up?”

“Always wanted to,” he panted back, and his blush spread.

Was Gabriel right? Did Marcus have a praise kink? Jack reached up and ran his hands over Marcus’ arms and chest. “You’re really toned, too. Not too bulky. Your portions are really great!”

Marcus laughed suddenly. “You’re so weird!”

Jack reached up and put one hand on the side of Marcus’ face. “You’re just fun to look at. Great eyes, nice lips, fantastic nose!”

Marcus blushed and turned away slightly.

When people were being kind, they called his Roman nose ‘aquiline’ or ‘prominent’. When they were cruel, it was hooked, or a beak.

“I’m serious,” Jack said. He ran his hand over Marcus’ cheek and nose. “It fits you perfectly. It makes you look distinguished.” Jack grinned as Marcus blushed a little deeper. “And one day, when you grow up,” he started with a laugh, and Marcus slapped at his chest.

“Oh, fuck you!” he laughed.

“That’s your job right now, and you’re doing so wonderfully.” Jack pulled Marcus down and kissed him deeply. “You’re just fantastic, you know this?” He continued to press kisses onto Marcus’ face as Marcus rocked, showering him with compliments.

Marcus gave a lingering shudder as his came, and he collapsed onto Jack’s chest. They fingers twined together, and Jack kissed his cheek. “C’mon, showers, then bed. Your own bed. We got a mission.”

Marcus nodded took a deep breath. 

An actual mission, and one that wasn’t running to the stacks for a research file.


	5. The Snow Mission 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission has begun, part 01!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no smut in this one, my apologies

Marcus decided he hated the snow.

His new vision was annoying. They were finally outside and he had to wear special goggles because of his new ability to see into the ultraviolet part of the spectrum. There were more colors to the snow, which glowed under the sunlight, and the pine trees were more colorful. He scratched at a branch, pondering.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel asked, and Marcus looked up. “Leave the trees alone. Actually, get up high, scout around a bit.”

Marcus gestured to the branch. “They’re colorful. A lot more colorful than I’m used to. Everything is colorful. And bright.” 

“They’re covered in lichen,” Crissy sighed. “City boy.” She and Jack nodded at each other knowingly. 

“I know what lichen is,” Marcus muttered. “This isn’t lichen! It’s, there’s too much and it’s not the right colors.”

“He’s seeing ultraviolet now,” Jack said. “Plants and birds use more colors than humans can see. What else can your angel eyes do?”

“And do it from the top of the tree,” Gabriel ordered. “Do your job, scout.” 

“Um, long distance and I can kinda zoom? I guess?” Marcus said and rotated his hands near his eyes, emulating binoculars as he looked closer at a branch. “You ever take a black light to something? That’s what I’m seeing. I’m grateful for the goggles,” he said and Gabriel shook his arm.

“Get up that tree and take a look around, soldier” Gabriel said. Now that Marcus had opened up socially, the others were discovering just how chatty he could be.

“Have you noticed how our party’s at a lot like and Dungeons and Dragons party?” Crissy asked. 

“I was never allowed to play,” Marcus said as he looked for a way up the tree. “Demons and stuff. I wasn’t too comfortable with the idea of a priest class, either. I saw a book once and it’s nothing like what a priest actually does.” He shed his long coat and hung it over a branch.

It didn’t look like Marcus was shutting up any time soon, and Gabriel shook his head. “TREE,” he ordered, and held his hands together. He boosted Marcus into the branches. “How so, Crissy?”

“Well, we got Pitch,” she said, pointing to Pichelli, “who’s really strong. He’s our tank. We got Angel Eyes up there, our ranger.” She pointed up to Marcus, now more than halfway up the tree. “Squirrel ranger. We got you and Jack,” she said and pointed to Jack, “our balanced fighters. And Musaaid, you’re our cleric since you have the medical training. I get to be the wizard, since they’re cool, I’m cool, you get the point.” 

Gabriel snorted a laugh. “Spread out, look around.” 

They examining their surroundings, and clustered back up once Gabriel whistled. 

“What do your angel eyes see, Marcus?” he called up.

“Did you call me Angel Eyes?” Marcus asked from halfway down the tree. “I used to be called Angel Eyes all the time. Not since I joined the Marines, though. I was D’Angelo then. Somehow in SEP I became Marcus again? I haven’t been Marcus in a long time.” He hung from a branch and swung himself over to another. He quickly walked along the branch to the next tree, and looked over the treeline.

“Get out of the tree, D’Angelo,” Gabriel sighed.

“Marcus, get in the tree, Marcus, get out of the tree, you’re bossiest boss. Hey, what’s Musaaid doing over there? He’s got a stick in the ground.”

“Marcus!” Jack sighed. He and Gabriel linked their arms, and Marcus took the cue and dropped into their arms. 

“OK, so, here’s what I got.” He pulled out a notebook and flipped to a page. Marcus had drawn a rather competent map of the surrounding area, with elevation, landmarks, a few notes, and details about wind direction. “So, we’ve got trees, and bushes, and a river, and a glowy thing.” He hauled his coat back on while Gabriel examined the notes.

“Glowy thing?” Pichelli asked skeptically.

Marcus gestured to his face. ‘Look, I just got my new eyes a few days ago and I lost the instruction booklet. I’m just turning settings on and off until I find what works.”

Crissy fought down a laugh.

“You can turn it off?” Pichelli asked in a wary tone.

“Well,” Marcus said with a flip of his hand, “it takes a spoon and I can only do it once, but it IS possible.” He returned to the map. “Glowy thing here, and a glowy thing here.” He looked up and scratched his chin. “Saw a bird. Don’t know what it was, it was really colorful! Why are there so many more colors?”

“OK, Marcus, focus,” Gabriel sighed. “Do you think the glowing spots could be something you can see with your ultraviolet vision?”

“They weren’t  _ glowing _ ,” he corrected. “They were  _ glowy _ . Glowing looks different.”

“Great, really helpful,” Pichelli sighed. “Do we even have a goal?”

“I wanna see the glowy things,” Marcus offered.

“Good a plan as any,” Jack mused. “Once it’s dark out we can use the stars to navigate. Gabriel, any ideas?”

“First we need to know where we are.” The team had been given no information other than the fact that ‘you have five days,’ and the transport had taken off.

“Using science, the sun, and a stick in the ground,” Musaaid grinned, “I have determined we are not quite in Canada. My best guess is Idaho, somewhere.”

“Nice, I would have needed constellations,” Jack said. “So, Idaho.”

Musaaid shrugged . “Roughly.”

“I’ve never been before now!” Marcus chirped. His face fell when Crissy pet his head. “Why this?”

“You’re just so excitable! Like a puppy!” she laughed.

“No wonder Floss wants to fuck him,” Pichelli grinned, and they laughed. 

“Look, I’m just happy to FINALLY be outside, OK? Even though the colors are wrong and the sky is painful death to look at,” Marcus explained with hand gestures. “Thank you.” He took his notebook back from Gabriel and tucked it away. “So, glowy thing?”

Jack shrugged. “I know birds see power lines as flashes of light, so, it might be a man-made structure.”

Gabriel nodded. “Can you get us there, Marcus?”

“Yeah, I think I can. I mean, I may need a tree every now and then, the trees are really thick out here, but, yeah, I can find it.” Marcus held the book out and made a few more notes. “Did you guys know I did survival training? Got good marks in orienteering.”

“Did they cover stealth in any of those classes?” Pichelli asked, and Crissy snickered.

“No, but the trainer, man, that guy had a beard,” Marcus continued, and Gabriel shook his head. “He said I had a natural talent for orienteering. Called me Little Bear, though. Didn’t much like that.” 

“More like Little Otter,” Jack hissed to Gabriel, who managed to keep a straight face.

Marcus checked the horizon and nodded, then kept going. “It shouldn’t take that much longer to get there. There’s this rock formation-”

“D’Angelo,” Gabriel said quietly, and Marcus froze. “I like you, you’re a good guy, but this might be a good time to practice stealth and discretion.”

“Shut up?” Marcus asked quietly, and Gabriel shook his head.

“I mean, tone it down. A little.” Gabriel pinched his fingers together.

Marcus nodded, and straightened up a little as he walked. “Sorry, don’t have much experience in outside missions. Normally I get coffee or drive cross town, but one time I had to fly to Italy since I read Aramaic and have a working understanding of Coptic and I’m shutting up now.” 

Gabriel sighed and shook his head. He hated to do so, but he doubted Marcus’ place in SEP. Floss had raised a few good points the other day. Marcus had no combat experience, and he was coming from a soft background. Yes, he was a Marine and passed the rigorous physical to get into SEP, but he was so young and naive. 

And he was chattering again. At least he had been quiet for almost twenty minutes. 

“And it’s just so weird to look at, you know? It’s like one of those movies where they show the guy is drunk or stoned by-”

“D’Angelo.”

“I know, I know,” Marcus nodded quickly at Gabriel. “Just talking about the glowy thing in the tree.”

“Well, go get it,” Gabriel said and gestured. 

Marcus quickly shed his coat, handing it to Crissy.

“Wow, this thing is heavy for a coat,” she hissed as he quickly scaled the tree.

“It’s why I took it off!” Marcus called down. “It’s a box. You want it cut loose? I’m cutting it loose. Wait, I don’t have to cut it, there’s a strap! Someone put it here, very nicely done.” Marcus reminded Gabriel of a Siamese cat; they talked a lot, but had little to say. They could see him maneuvering something, and he slowly started to lower a cache to the ground.

Gabriel examined the box as he caught it. It was a standard weapon box, rectangular and lean, and Gabriel set it on the ground. “What part’s glowing?” he asked.

Marcus gestured to the straps. “It’s  _ glowy _ , not  _ glowing _ .” He tapped his eyes. “I’ll let you know when something is  _ glowing  _ by saying its  _ glowing _ .”

Pichelli took the strap and examined it. “Hey, I know these, they’re cargo straps. They reflect light so you can see them in the bay.”

“Like I said,” Marcus sighed, “ _ glowy _ . Not  _ glowing _ .”

Gabriel opened the box and nodded. Inside were several ration bars, a few nearly frozen bottles of water, a book, and some odd looking gloves. Gabriel pulled the book out and opened it it. “Musaaid, can you read this?”

Musaaid took the book and nodded, then shook his head. “Gibberish. It looks like Arabic, but it’s gibberish. Must be in code, like a cipher.”

“Well, what does it say? In gibberish?” Jack asked and examined the gloves. “What’s with all the wires?”

Musaaid adjusted the book and pursed his lips, then started reading out loud. “Makh dray meyl merb aun efenen di tir. Guys, this is just,” he started to say.

“It’s Yiddish,” Marcus said with a nod. “And badly translated at that. Move three miles to the west and then open the door. Best guess. It’s like the just plugged it into Google translate-”

“Aren’t you Catholic?” Pichelli asked. “Why do you know Yiddish?”

“What can I say?” Marcus said with a shrug. “I like classic literature in its original language.” He took the book then handed it back, unable to read the Arabic. “Basically, someone said, well,” he said nervously and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m stupid. I got in the Core because I was a ‘pet project.’ So, I wanted to prove I wasn’t.”

“So you learned Yiddish out of spite?” Gabriel asked with a grin. It’s how he learned to speak German.

Marcus nodded. “Started my bachelors for Religious Studies. Learned Latin. Already knew some, it was part of Saint Leo’s course, you needed Latin, so that part was easy.”

“How many languages do you speak?” Crissy asked in amazement. “I can speak some Mandarin, my step-dad taught me, but I can only barely keep up.”

“Um, Italian, born speaking that. English, learned in high school, you all know how good I am that that. Latin and Yiddish, and Aramaic. I can follow Hebrew but not speak it.” He sighed. “But I learned them for the wrong reasons.”

“Out of spite,” Gabriel said, his grin getting broader. “You learned three languages out of spite.”

“I’m not REALLY fluent, I’ll never fool anyone,” Marcus admitted. “Sometimes my English is even weird. But I worked really hard to lose my accent.”

Musaaid clapped Marcus’ shoulder and rubbed his head; he understood. “Amazing. Let’s get this translated.”

While Musaaid and Marcus translated, Pichelli hung close to Gabriel.

“Something on your mind, Pitch?” Gabriel asked and lead Pichelli away from the others.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he admitted after a moment. “I’m just the muscle.”

“Oh, no, we are not doing this again,” Gabriel warned him. “Marcus already doubts himself, I don’t need you doing it, too. You’ve got two tours of duty, Pichelli. You’re a fine shot and honestly, I don’t think you get tired. Your movement in the field and combat is amazing.”

“But I’m not smart like you guys are. Marcus speaks five languages, five! He’s a kid, Reyes! And I struggle to talk to my grandparents in Italian. You speak, what, three? Jack picked up Spanish super quick. Musaaid’s a god damned math genius. Crissy knows every programming language out there. I’m a thug compared to you guys.”

“Well, you got in for a reason. You’re strong and determined, and adaptable in combat.”

Pichelli sighed a little. “But I’m so stupid compared to you guys.”

“Then fix it,” Gabriel stated firmly. “Ask Marcus to help with your Italian. Crissy loves talking about computers. Jack’s a history buff. Musaaid will tutor you in math. Any one of us has interests we love to share.”

‘I’m just, I’m worried they don’t like me. Because I’m friends with Floss.” He paused for a moment. “Why AM I friends with him? He was calling Marcus a wop earlier, my parents are Italian.”

“You’re not Italian?” Gabriel questioned.

“No, not really.” They stood quietly for a moment, and Marcus waved them over.

“OK, here’s the deal. The rest of it is Alice in Wonderland, in Yiddish, written in Arabic,” Musaaid said as Marcus beamed, happy to have helped. “I don’t know why, though. Those are, I mean, why those two languages?”

“Because someone on the other team must speak them,” Gabriel mused. “So, we know we’re up against one or two people who speak one or both languages.”

“Which means we won’t be getting bacon any time soon in the drop boxes,” Crissy sighed.

Musaaid elbowed her and she laughed.

“Let’s follow the instructions and get going. Quietly,” Gabriel said with a look to Marcus. “West it is, stay under cover.”

They nodded and started walking.

Marcus was quiet for most of twenty minutes. “We’re walking a lot faster than we normally do, should take, what, forty-five minutes, maybe? But we’ve got gear. You’d think it’d be heavier, but it-”

“D’Angelo,” Gabriel said in a low voice, and Marcus fell quiet. “Thank you.” Gabriel kept from sighing. “Please stop apologizing.”

“Um, Captain?” Marcus asked quietly a few minutes later. “Glowy thing.”

Gabriel nodded. “Good job. OK, glowy thing break everyone. Keep on watch, we don’t know what the other team knows or where they are.” He boosted Marcus into the tree, and Marcus, quietly this time, lowered another crate.

“There are other teams out here, right? I’m surprised the others haven’t found them. Are we spread out too far apart, maybe?” he chattered as he handed the crate over.

“Maybe they can’t see like you can. You said you’re the only one having issues with the 80-90s bathroom, right?” Gabriel asked as he opened the crate. “Ammo, ammo, knife, here, put this on, Crissy, your ears are turning red.” He lobbed a balaclava at her.

“What’s up, Gabe. You’re thinking again,” Jack commented as he pulled out a bottle of water.

“That’s a weird color,” Marcus said, and prodded another bottle. “They’re all weird colors.”

Jack cracked one and sniffed it. “It’s Gatorade. But it doesn’t smell like Blue Ice.” 

Gabriel took the bottle from him and took a whiff. “Doesn’t smell right. What’s odd about the color, Angel Eyes?” he asked and gave it at Marcus.

Marcus took it and examined it, and gave it a sniff. “It looks like an oil slick. Shimmery . Like something’s moving between the surface and the liquid.” He handed it back to Gabriel, who gave it back to Jack.

Pichelli held out his hand, and Jack gave it to him. He sniffed it as well, and wrinkled his nose. “Smells spoiled. I didn’t know Gatorade could spoil.”

“Will everyone please stop sniffing the potentially fatal glowy Gatorade?” Musaaid asked with a scowl.

“It’s not glowy,” Marcus corrected. “It’s a weird color.”

Gabriel shrugged. “We’ll have to sit you down and figure out what looks like what to you, now. All right, take what we need, leave the rest. Let’s get moving, people.” They quickly went through the box, left the questionable bottles, and moved on.

Marcus managed to be quiet for almost ten minutes, then Gabriel halted them. Marcus had paused, and peered into the distance. “Movement.” He pointed off to the side. “Not sure how far away, telling distances is weird right now.”

“Pichelli, keep an eye on D’Angelo. D’Angelo, scout and see if you can’t find the other team. Morrison, watch our back. Field, stay on el-Dawood. I’m taking point.”

“Up you go,” Pichelli said and almost threw the younger man into the lower branches of a pale tree. A fir, maybe? Pichelli didn’t have time to tell as a bullet slammed into the tree beside him.

They drew their weapons and scattered, and Marcus leaned against the far side of the tree. He quickly scaled higher, assembled his sniper rifle, and exhaled. He had rubber bullets, but those were still dangerous.

“Well, at least I’m nimble,” he said to himself as he lowered himself to his stomach. He adjusted his goggles and his helmet, and exhaled again. He watched as his team scattered and found cover, and looked to the trees.

Pichelli pulled out his tonfa and almost failed to block a blow. “135, eh?” he grinned as he spotted the number. “Original 35, here.” Pichelli blocked another blow and aimed an attack and 135’s temple, and connected with a thrust of his tonfa.

135’s helmet cracked and he stepped back, startled. After a moment of thought he continued his attack, and his fists lit up. He said nothing as he struck with his electrified gauntlets, and Pichelli rolled to the side.

His quick strikes did nothing to slow the man, and he didn’t dare block an electric attack. “I got this guy!” he snapped at Gabriel, and when 135 pressed forward, wondered if it was true. Every man had a weak spot, every armor a breaking point. 

Marcus was easy. He was shy about dueling with people he liked and telegraphed his moves, hesitant about hurting his friends. Musaaid thought too much, and if Pichelli changed actions at the last moment he could throw him off his rhythm. Gabriel Reyes, well, there was a challenge. Strong and fast before enhancements, and combat experience? Getting the drop on him was tricky.

135 was similar to Reyes. He was fast and confident, and Pichelli held back, judging his speed under the guise of avoiding the electric gauntlets. He worked to keep his back to the tree, keeping his opponent between him and the sniper.

A pattern emerged.

Right right step left. Pull back and wait for a charge. Three quick rights, step, left. Pull back and wait for a charge. 

Right right - and Pichelli twirled his tonfa, then jammed the rear end into 135’s left elbow.

135 pulled back and Pichelli pressed forward, striking his armpit, collarbone and neck, and bought his right tonfa forward, hitting the crack in the helmet. Right as the helmet cracked deeper, a handful of shots rang out, along with a startled shriek from above.

Marcus hit two branches on his way down, and Pichelli broke off from 135 to try and break his fall. He slid under Marcus and caught him, pulling a muscle in his thigh in the process. Marcus’ bag and sniper rifle hit the ground on the other side of the tree, but Pichelli ignored them for now. 

“Hey, hey, stay with me, short stack!” Pichelli urged and slapped his cheek softly. His helmet was dented over his right temple. “Do you have first aid?” he asked as he turned to 135.

The man stared at Marcus, the broken branches, and then Pichelli. He turned and ran, and Pichelli resisted hollering at him. 

He needed to get to cover.

Pichelli quickly scooped up Marcus and hauled him into the underbrush behind the trees, but no other shots came. He crouched over Marcus, waiting.

For a few long minutes, nothing happened. Pichelli held his position in the scrub, and finally he could hear shots from the south. He could spot movement, and he realized his team was moving. Gabriel made a gesture, and Pichelli winced as Gabriel ducked, a branch cracking above him.

Pichelli quickly leaned out of cover and grabbed Marcus’ gear. He disassembled Marcus’ riffle, shoved it in the bag, and slung it across his back. He then supported Marcus’ head as he lifted him to his chest, and he scurried away, staying low and moving quickly towards his team.

He could see them across a gap in the trees, and he growled displeasure. “Where’s their sniper?” has asked himself. “I heard you shoot, but I don’t know if you got him. Marcus, wake up!”

Marcus’ eyes fluttered, and Pichelli swore softly. 

“Tappetto, wake up,” Pichelli urged. “Tell me you’re OK.”

Marcus was silent.

Pichelli swore again and gave Marcus a squeeze. “I think you’ve got a concussion. We need to get someplace quiet, and I doubt the other team will make the easy. We can call for a stop, get medical extraction for you.”

“No, no, I’m awake,” Marcus said quietly. “Can’t fail. Not a failure. Not a pet.” He kept his eyes closed tight. “So bright.”

“Your goggles!” Pichelli said quietly. He turned, spotting them in the underbrush, broken and too far away. “Here, hold on, use mine.” He gently tugged his goggles over Marcus’ face and nodded. “Well, there’s a shooter out there. And 135. But I think the shooter is different. The gun sounds different, more booming, the shot went wide. We need to move, Tappetto, and now. C’mon, we’re getting to the building.”

He could easily swing backwards, round the hill, and move through the little glen on the map Marcus had drawn. I would take a few hours, but would be doable by nightfall. They could meet up with the others and figure out what to do next.

He made sure Gabriel saw him slung Marcus on his back and turned the other way, and Gabriel gave him a raised fist, an affirmative.

Pichelli darted off.

  
  
  


“Hey, Pitch?” Marcus asked, and Pichelli hummed at him. He was finally awake, for the most part. “Aren't I heavy?”

He had been walking for almost two hours. Pichelli gave a shrug to gauge the weight. “You, the coat, your bag, under three hundred pounds. Two eighty, tops.”

“And your gear?” Marcus’ voice had a dreamy quality to it.

“It’s fine, Tappetto. Now, if you were Floss or Reddings, yeah, that extra fifty, sixty pounds would mean something.” He kept walking. “Hell, Dave’s underwear weighs three pounds just from the size of it.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

Pichelli gave a soft sigh. “Marcus, stop talking. You’re wounded. Just let me do the heavy lifting, all right?” Pichelli adjusted his grip again.

Marcus was quiet for two minutes. “What’s Floss’ issue with me?” 

Pichelli was actually getting nervous about Marcus’ silence before he started talking again. “Well, you’re Catholic. And the wrong type of white. Hell, I’m the wrong type of white.”

“I’m Italian,” Marcus said flatly. “My head hurts.”

Pichelli gave a laugh. “You got shot and fell out of a tree, Tappetto. Of course your head hurts.”

“Yeah, it does.” Marcus sighed. 

“Hey, Marcus, look,” Pichelli said quietly, “I’m sorry I treated you poorly. You’re a good kid. And Floss is an ass. A racist ass.”

“Left. Go left. Glowing thing,” Marcus muttered.

“Finally!” Pichelli said with a giddy chuckle. “A  _ glowing  _ thing!” He turned, letting Marcus guide him, and soon stopped. He could see a building in the distance, and there was a chance they would see him, too. “Here, I’m putting you down. Stay put.”

Pichelli made sure Marcus was wrapped well in his coat, and he was careful to cover him with a pine bough. “Stay put and keep quiet. I know it’s hard, but, just, keep. Quiet.” Pichelli gave Marcus’ shoulder a clap when he nodded. “Good. Stay here.”

Pichelli crept forward, noting a camera. There was a buzzing drone, and he watched for several minutes, but it didn’t reappear. He pulled out his binoculars and studied the door. There was a blank panel beside the door, and he mused to himself. It gave off a soft glow in the twilight.

Marcus said this area was glowing.

Pichelli carefully returned to Marcus and gave him a gentle shake. 

“C’mon, short stack, up. C’mon, Tappetto.” The Italian nickname made Marcus stir.  _ “Yes good awake good!”  _ Pichelli urged in Italian. “Come on and look at something for me.” Pichelli had a gentleness his rough nature seemed to hide. He gently scooped Marcus up and slung him on his back. “I think I found your glowing thing. You wanted to see it, right? C’mon, that’s right, Tappetto, up we go.”

Pichelli carried Marcus to his hiding spot, and waited for the drone.

“Glowing thing,” Marcus said quietly and he tracked the reappearing drone. “Glowing thing,” he said again and gestured to the door. “Looks, I dunno.” As he struggled with his goggles, Pichelli helped him remove them. Marcus squinted, trying to focus.

“It’s a hand. Design. Print. Handprint,” he said quietly.

“The gloves,” Pichelli hissed. “Come on, let’s get back with the others.” He stashed his gear and made Marcus as comfortable as he could on his back.

“Glowy things,” Marcus said and gestured, and Pichelli decided to follow his lead again and head in what he hoped was the right direction.

  
  
  


“You suck at hiding,” Gabriel scoffed from the shadows. 

Pichelli almost dropped Marcus to draw his sidearm.

“We found a nice hollow, made a small camp. Jack actually caught a rabbit, too. Guy’s a regular country boy.”

They walked to the camp and Pichelli felt the stress ooze from his body. “Guys, I found Marcus. Musaaid, he’s out. Fell out of a tree. He shut up and everything.” Pichelli settled Marcus onto the sleeping bag and pine needles they had arranged into a bed. “We found a building, the gloves will let us in. I don’t know what’s in there, but, there’s a drone that covers the entrance. We can get in if we’re fast enough without being seen.”

He handed over the notebook, and Gabriel took it. Pichelli had done his best, and while his map was functional, it wasn’t beautiful like Marcus’ were. “They have their own 90, too, another sniper. But I don’t think he can see like Tappetto can.”

Musaaid gave a nod and a happy sigh. “Marcus will be fine, he’s just sleeping now. Good thing we heal fast, though!”

“Why so down, Pitch? You did good!” Gabriel exclaimed.

“I had one job, Captain.” Pichelli looked over to Marcus. “You told me to keep an eye on him, and I told him to get in the tree. He got sniped because of me.”

“You got him here, though, and found the building. Grab some rabbit broth, then we’re breaking camp.” Gabriel gestured to the sleeping bag next to Marcus.

Pichelli nodded and sat down next to Marcus and drank from the cup Crissy handed him. He closed his eyes, and he didn't even have time to be startled at how quickly he fell asleep.

  
  
  


“Time’s up, Pitch! Careful, there’s Marcus. He’s a snuggler, isn’t he?” Jack’s amused voice, along with him kicking the bottom of his boots, woke Pichelli up.

He realized there was a weight on him, and he gave a shove.

Marcus gave a soft sound and settled closer.

“You, too, Angel Eyes. Up.” Jack tapped the bottom of Marcus’ boots, and Pichelli sat up.

“Tappetto, up.”

“What are you calling him?” Jack asked as he extended a hand.

From the sky it didn’t seem like much time had passed, but Pichelli was grateful for what rest he got. “Oh, just, shorty, really. My nonno used to call me that. He wasn’t responding, and I guess I panicked a little.”

“I had a nonno,” Marcus said and rolled over. He managed to sit up and rub his head. “He was mean.” He hauled the goggles on and stood up. “What happened?”

“I got you shot in the head and you fell out of a tree,” Pichelli explained. “But you’re OK, don’t worry!”

“Well, that’s right friendly of you,” Marcus snapped. “Musaaid, am I OK?”

“No,” Musaaid said as he picked up his pack. “You died and now we have to haul you back.”

“Don’t sass him, Musaaid,” Jack sighed. “The man died.”

“I don’t want him to be died,” Crissy said quietly. “Died is bad.”

A soft laughter spread among the six of them. They packed up and started to march, taking care to keep hidden.

“It feels like it was a lot further away,” Pichelli quietly admitted as they came to a halt a safe distance away.

“Well, you weren’t hauling around an injured Italian,” Gabriel murmured as he examined the building with his binoculars. “Marcus, with me. You guys stay here.” Gabriel and Marcus slid in closer, slowly, and Gabriel motioned for him to stop. “Can you make out anything with your magical eyes? Glowing or glowy?”

“Glowing. Just that hand print on the hand scanner.” Marcus scanned the hill carefully, then gripped Gabriel’s shoulder. “Look. Above. Person.”

“Where?”

Marcus gave a frustrated noise. “He’s, he’s wearing, he’s wearing colors you can’t see. OK, you see the rock with the color on it you might not be able to see? OK, hang on.” Marcus pulled his notebook out and sketched the cliff, then placed an ‘X’ on the top.

“Can you hit him from here?” Gabriel asked, and Marcus bobbed his head a little.

“Yeah, but they’re prone. Can’t hit anything but the barrel of the gun. Maybe.”

“They know the building is important, but they don’t have a key.” Gabriel nudged him. “Come on, we need to plan.” 


	6. The Snow Mission 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of Marcus' first team mission that isn't a trip to the library for some research material.

Marcus did his best to follow the plan.

Marcus went up and around the hill, slowly. He had turned his coat inside out, letting the cream and brown lining disguise him in the shadows of snow and branches. To Marcus, he stood out terribly, but he had to accept that his vision was different.

It was easy for him to follow the path the previous sniper took, once Jack had shown him the tracks. 

He knew Pichelli was following, being a little less obvious, and the comforted him. He would have liked Gabe or Jack better, but Pichelli knew what he was doing. It turned out he wasn’t such an asshole after all. Marcus carefully picked his way around the trees, and spotted something.

A figure was waiting at the top of the hill, staring almost straight at him. 

Could he see Marcus?

Marcus could see him, clear as day, certain parts of his camouflage popping against the bushes. He wondered if he could relay this information to his superiors? Would it matter? How many people could see like this now? Was this helpful information?

Marcus lifted his rifle, aimed, and stilled his breathing.

After a minute of aiming his fired, and the man fell, a tranquilizer dart impaled in his chest.

Pichelli moved forward quickly, passing Marcus, and Marcus followed carefully. Pichelli hauled the fallen man into cover and bound him quickly, then rest him on his side and made sure he could breathe.

Marcus swung around, running quickly, and several branches near him exploded as the sniper spotted him. He ducked around a tree and slung his rifle on his back, and quickly scaled it.

“Since I’m putting  _ myself  _ in the tree, maybe I won’t get shot!” he muttered to himself. Once he was high enough he leapt to the next tree, then another, and climbed higher. No bullet tracked him, and Marcus carefully settled on a branch.

He scanned the area, eyes flickering, and suddenly blinked. “Where are my goggles? What are these?” he hissed and adjusted them. “They’ll do, they’ll do, focus, Angel Eyes, focus!”

Marcus took a centering breath and focused. He slowly scanned the area before him, and his eyes crossed slightly as something stood out.

The other sniper.

Marcus lifted his rifle, loaded it with a tranquilizer, and fired.

The other sniper sunk into the snow, and Marcus stayed still.

Nothing moved.

After a few moments, Pichelli ran under the trees. He looked up, and kept running.

Marcus followed, hopping to another branch, this time into a pine tree. The snow rained down, shaken free, and Pichelli turned and aimed his sidearm.

“It’s me, don’t shoot me!” Marcus squeaked, and Pichelli holstered his gun and held his arms out. Marcus dropped into his arms, and Pichelli put him on the ground.

“Move, move!” he ordered, and shoved Marcus up the hill. A s they passed the sniper Pichelli scooped him up and tied his hands behind him. He then carried him to the cover of the tree line and sat him up. “Come on, the others are moving in. We’re going over the front.”

Marcus followed Pichelli to the edge of the cliff and they pulled out their climbing supplies. Marcus quickly set up his anchor, and he quickly pulled the rope between his legs, around his chest and over his shoulder, and without hesitation flung himself from the roof.

Pichelli followed, impressed that Marcus took action so quickly. He hauled on Marcus’ arm and dragged him inside the building. “There should be two left. el-Dawood found two of them off to the side, sedated. We just need to-”

Marcus never found out what they needed to do, because a woman slammed into Pichelli. They struggled and she flung him outside, and slapped the control panel. The woman turned and glared at Marcus.

“Hello, 98,” she hissed. Her number, 154, was visible on her uniform, and blood was splattered on one of her arms. “Be a good little 90 and follow quietly.” She looked down at her arm, noticing Marcus’ line of sight. “Don’t worry, she’ll wake up soon.”

He could hear Pichelli pounding on the door, calling for him. He could hear gunshots deeper in the building, and the sounds of a struggle. 154 lunged at him, and Marcus rolled under her arm and bolted.

She gripped his rifle and hauled him close, and landed a left hook on his jaw.

Marcus stumbled, wrenched the rifle from her grip, and bolted. Once far enough away he turned, loaded a dart, and fired, but she blocked, her arm guard knocking the dart aside.

Marcus fled, running from 154 and her angry shouts, and took cover around the corner.

“D’Angelo, move to my position,” Gabriel snapped from down the hall, and Marcus shook his head. “D’Angelo!”

Marcus pressed himself further into his corner, shaking his head. He could hear someone strike someone, and then there was a yell.

Everything was quiet for most of a minute, and Marcus clutched his rifle close to his chest. He tried to control his breathing, and pursed his lips.

“D’Angelo!” Gabriel snapped again, and Marcus gave a soft noise. 

He then gave a shriek as an angry face glared down at him. 

“Marcus!” Gabriel snarled. “I can’t babysit you! You’re a Marine! You are SEP!” H e gave Marcus a shake. “Act like it!”

Marcus nodded at Gabriel as he hauled him from the corner.

“Now get your ass up those stairs and COVER ME.”

Marcus nodded and bolted up the steps. “I can do this, I can do this!” he hissed to himself. He set up his rifle and followed Gabriel with his scope. 

Gabriel tackled a man and broke his face plate with a solid punch, he hauled him up. “Tranq!” he shouted, and loaded his rifle.

Marcus took a deep breath, focused, and fired. The tranquilizer pierced the man’s shoulder, and Gabriel set him down. 

He checked his pulse and nodded. He gave Marcus a thumbs up and dragged the man near the wall, and motioned for Marcus to follow.

Marcus backed up, and took a running leap. He rolled as he hit the ground and followed Gabriel down the hall. He paused when Gabriel raised his fist and took cover, and gathered himself. He winced as another sound crunched around the corner, and he realized Gabriel was in trouble.

Gabriel was taking a hit from 135. He rolled backwards across the floor, clutching his arm where the electrified gauntlets made contact, and he pulled himself back.

Marcus couldn’t help but shout, “No!” 

135 paused and looked over to him. “Hey, sniper boy!” he grinned, and struck his fists together, causing a sparking noise and flashing light. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to you next!”

“Back off!” he snapped, and 135 laughed. Marcus quickly loaded another tranquilizer dark and shot, striking 135 in the shoulder, but it had no effect on 135.

“Oh, I’m immune to drugs. What’s you next idea, runt?” 135 turned and started to walk towards Marcus, and Marcus stepped back.

Gabriel slammed into 135 and hauled on his neck, and 135 rolled and activated his gauntlets. 

He gripped Gabriel by the head, dislodging his beanie, and slammed him into the ground. 135 pressed one gauntlet into Gabriel's chest and activated it.

Gabriel’s jaw clenched shut as electricity flowed through him, unable to make more than a guttural sound.

Marcus panicked. This was combat. This was actual combat. His friend, the first he’d had in ages, was suffering. He had to do something! He didn’t think his rubber bullets would work against 135’s armor, so he changed it up. He hauled his armored coat off and swung it like a bat, striking 135 in the face. 

135’s head snapped up and he rolled off of Gabriel, and Gabriel lay on the floor breathing for a moment. 

Gabriel rolled to the side as Marcus stepped forward, and Marcus leapt over him with a shriek. 

Marcus stepped to the side and let 135 strike, and caught his fist in his coat. He let the coat absorb the shock of the gauntlets, and dug his fingers into 135’s arm. He hauled, ripping the straps and wires of the gauntlet.

He then proceeded to disassemble 135.

First he knocked 135’s left knee out, and elbowed him in the back of his neck. 

When 135 rotated, Marcus grabbed his wrist and pulled it up and over his head, and put used his entire body weight to haul him down. He dead dropped, causing 135 to fall backwards as his shoulder dislocated, and kicked out, jamming his knee into the back of 135’s neck.

135 choked, and Marcus reached over, grabbed 135’s combat knife from his shoulder, and sliced open the strap on his right gauntlet. He then elbowed 135 in the face, then cracked his knee into his chin. Marcus was fast, and Gabriel grinned at him.

Marcus pressed the tip of the knife against 135’s neck, along his jaw under his ear, and hauled his face close to his own by the strap of his helmet. “Surrender. There is no other option.”

When 135 resisted, Marcus sliced the chin strap and pulled his helmet off. He rolled over 135’s shoulder and cracked the helmet against the back of 135’s head. 

135 turned, trying to grab Marcus with his free arm, and Marcus planted a hand on his shoulder. 

Marcus pushed off the ground, and he pulled his feet up as he flipped over 135, then slammed them into 135’s back on the way down.

135 stumbled forward, and unable to catch himself properly with one good arm, hit the ground. He rolled over to his back and groaned.

Marcus was on him in a second, knife pressed to 135’s neck. “Please surrender, I’m tired of hurting you!” Marcus asked in a quiet voice. His weight meant nothing to the super soldier, but the knife did.

135 spit in Marcus’ face, and Marcus pulled the knife back and shoved it forward.

135 winced, then opened his eyes.

Marcus had stabbed the air.

“By training mission rules, Post, you’re dead,” a woman said from the door. Her jacket had 154 on the shoulder, and Marcus turned.

“Right eye.” With that he whipped the knife at the wall, underhand, embedding it almost perfectly in the corn of four tiles.

“Doesn’t count, runt,” she hissed gripped the knife. As she hauled Marcus heard a pop from behind him as Post shoved his shoulder back into its socket, and Post wrapped his arms around Marcus’ chest. He squeezed and Marcus’ vision whited out for a moment, and Gabriel ran up.

“Not so fast,” 154 hissed and pressed the knife into Marcus’ neck. “98 is mine, now. Post?”

Marcus found it hard to inhale as Post kept up a solid squeeze. He could see dark spots and dazzling white circles as Post adjusted his grip.

“This is for poisoning Miller and Hyde,” 154 said as Post’s grip tightened.

“Poison? What are you talking about?” Gabriel demanded as he tried to edge around them for a better position.

“Hold still, you ain’t going anywhere. You poisoned those Gatorade bottles!” she insisted. “Now they can’t wake up!”

“Bad colors,” Marcus wheezed. “Came that way.”

“Why didn’t you doubt something we obviously left behind?” Gabriel snapped.

“You’re a 90,” she said and pulled the goggles off. “You’re going to read something for me.” She tugged on Post’s arm, and he loosened his grip. 

Marcus gasped for air as they backed up, and he tried to struggle. He only saw stars for his efforts.

“Freeze.” Jack jammed his rifle into Post’s back, and Gabriel took this moment to draw his own sidearm.

“I won’t hesitate!” 154 claimed as she pressed the knife into Marcus’ neck. A thin line of blood appeared, and Jack and Gabriel pulled back. “Now, we’re going to win this little game, aren’t we, 98?”

“Breathe,” he begged. “Breathe!” He pulled his head back, and 154 kept the knife against his neck.

“Enough, we surrender, you’re right near an artery!” Gabriel exclaimed. “A game isn’t worth a man’s life, 154. Let D’Angelo breathe! It’s just a training simulation.” Gabriel didn’t like how glossy his eyes had become.

“That we are going to win.”

“Fine, you win, let him go!” Jack snapped. “It’s a game, lady.”

“It isn’t just a game!” she snarled, and she and Post backed down the hall. “It’s our careers!”

“You,” Marcus panted, “suck.” He managed to rip one arm loose and tried to elbow Post, and Post squeezed until Marcus went limp. 

Post gave him a shake. “Harvey,” he said quietly, realizing what he had done. “Deb!”

“He’s fine,” she insisted, and Post shook his head. “What are you doing?”

“We won, Debby, they gave up.” He gently placed Marcus on the floor, and Marcus took several long, pained gasps. Post stepped back, knocking into Deborah Harvey. “Go on, take him.”

“He’s a 90, Post, he can read that wall!” she insisted.

Gabriel darted up and knelt by Marcus. “Hey, mijo, you OK?” 

Post kept himself between them and Harvey.

“Breathing!” Marcus spat out. “Breathing!”

“Good, that’s good,” Jack insisted. “C’mon, the others are downstairs.” He tilted Marcus’ head and looked in his eyes. They were glossy but recovering.

Post was now physically restraining Harvey. “Deb, c’mon, it isn’t worth it, we’ve won! Let’s go check on Miller and Hyde, OK?” He held her gently. “It’s over, Debby! Let them go!”

“We need to know if he can read the writing on the wall!” she insisted. “It’s omnic graffiti! He needs to see it!”

“Well, let’s go, then,” Gabriel said with a nod. “C’mon, mi joya. Can you keep up?” He gently slung himself under Marcus’ shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” he panted, and they started walking. 

Presently the reached the steps, and at the bottom, a large, glowing chunk of brick wall at bolted to the metal wall of the bunker. 

“OK, that’s something new,” Marcus said, and walked to the back wall to try and see the entire thing.

“Well, what’s it say?” Harvey demanded. She held out a book, similar to the one from their first crate. “Read the wall and win!”

“I can’t.” Marcus shrugged. “No more than I can read Korean.”

“I’m surprised you don’t speak it,” Jack said with a grin.

“Well, I mean, I know of it. I know HOW to read it, I mean, I know what sounds the letters make, so I can read it out loud, but I don’t speak it, if that makes sense.” Marcus stared up at the wall. “No clue.”

Harvey scowled at him. “Useless, just like Verde!”

“Hey, she’s not useless,” Post snapped. “She just can’t see it.”

“Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m looking at. Where’s Pichelli, he’s got my notebook. I’ll draw what I can see, though. There are, let’s see, this line here, this is moving, why’s it moving? And the colors are so weird.”

“Simulation over.” The voice over the intercom startled them all. The lights snapped on and doors snapped open, and several guards and officials walked out.

Marcus winced and covered his eyes, and Gabriel put a hand on his shoulders. Pichelli’s goggles weren’t as good as the ones he broke falling out of the tree.

“Soldier: 98, Marcus Leóne D’Angelo,” a man with thinning red hair stated, and Marcus stood at attention. “You can read this?”

“I, sir, no, sir.” Marcus gestured at the wall. “It’s like a neon light, if it had sharp angles, sir. But it moves, sir.”

The redhead held his hand out, and someone handed him a clipboard and paper, and he pulled a pen from his pocket. He held them out to Marcus, and Marcus nodded. “Draw what you see, Soldier: 98.”

“Um, could I please use your four colored pen, ma’am? There’s a lot going on here.” He took the pen from a woman in a suit and sat down. “This is going to take a few minutes, excuse me. Still a little light headed.”

“Soldiers, there are rooms set up for you.”

“Sir, I’m staying with my man,” Gabriel stated. “He’s injured and I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“He’s in good hands, Reyes. Go to your rooms.”

Gabriel looked like he wanted to argue, but he could see the medical personnel in the group. He nodded, and he and Jack followed a guard down the hall. Post and Harvey followed, and we guided to their own rooms.

The room was a large common room, with three beds along each wall and a bathroom to the side. A pair of large sofas rested in the middle around a low table, and the guard nodded at them. “Your teammates will be along shortly.” He saluted and left.

A package with shower supplies and fresh clothes sat on each bed, and Marcus’ bed had new goggles. 

“Get showered, Jack, I’m going to wait for the others.”

Jack nodded, claimed his supplies, and entered the bathroom.


	7. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They return from the mission and get some relaxation time, and Gabriel and Marcus chat after some personal time.

Marcus was finally back, a medical aide in tow. 

Gabriel looked up from the couch then stood, and fetched him from the door.

“You look tired, Esmeraldo.” He guided Marcus to the bed and the medical aide followed.

“I am tired.” He rubbed his eyes, grabbed the goggles, and eagerly hauled them on. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his face was flush. It looked like he had two black eyes forming. “They, um, my eyes. Needed work. They’re not supposed to be THAT good.” He gestured to his face. 

“We put in a biotic lens,” the medic explained. “It will filter the light.”

The others woke up and clustered around the bed, asking how he was and clapping his shoulder.

“I want a shower,” Marcus sighed, and leaned heavily against Gabriel. “I’m tired.”

“You can’t shower alone, D’Angelo.” The aide shook his head.

“I’ll watch him,” Gabriel said quietly. “There’s a fold out chair in there, I’ll make sure he sits. Push comes to shove, washcloth bath and bed.” 

The aide started to protest as Gabriel stood and helped Marcus to his feet. “Keep his head out of hot water, he’ll need a cool compress for his eyes once you’re done.”

“I’ll be fine, honestly,” Marcus said. “I just wanna sit down, wash my hair, and get some sleep.”

“Let’s get you tidied up, Esmeraldo.” Gabriel led him to the shower and Marcus nodded, leaning into his side. “You guys get back to bed.”

He helped Marcus strip and sat him on the shower chair. “Big day, huh?” he asked, and Marcus nodded. Gabriel tilted his head carefully and checked his eyes. They were irritated and red and Gabriel shook his head. “Here, let’s just get you cleaned up.”

Marcus quickly scrubbed himself down, and Gabriel kept watch on him, ready to catch him should he become dizzy.

“How did the wall go?” he asked, trying to keep Marcus awake until he got him to bed.

“I told them lots of stuff. How I could see bird colors and lichen and camouflage, but only parts of it. They said I was seeing too much, and they have a medical facility there. They put these lenses in my eyes, like giant contacts, said they would protect me from the sun.” Marcus scrubbed his feet. “I’m sorry, I screwed up bad out there.”

Gabriel had some more he wanted to say, but he didn’t feel like scolding Marcus right now. “It was your first live exercise outside of training, I imagine.”

“I mean, I’m just a research assistant.” Marcus scrubbed between his toes. “That was scary at the end there.”

“That’s why we train,” Gabriel said softly scrubbed his back. “You ready for bed?”

Marcus nodded and Gabriel helped him dress, then guided him to his bed. He gripped Gabriel’s shirt as he leaned away, and Gabriel gently pulled away.

“As your  _ commanding officer _ ,” he said firmly, emphasizing his rank, “I order you to get some rest.” He put the cool compress on Marcus’ eyes and forehead, clapped his shoulder, and moved to his own bed.

  
  
  


Jack selected Marth and leaned back in his chair. “Man, I’m telling you, 30s are huge across the board. Not just ours, but the hundreds? Their 30 was huge!” 

Pichelli nodded at Jack. “Yeah, 135 had an inch on me.” He picked Link and waited for Gabriel.

Gabriel picked Kirby. “Hit like a brick,” Gabriel muttered.

They heard something pattering in the hall, and Marcus slid past the door. “Guys!” they heard him chirp as he couldn’t brake. They waited for him to return, unconcerned over his exuberance. 

“The guy’s just a puppy, Crissy is right,” Musaaid said as he picked Kirby.

“Hey, I’m Kirby, pick Jigglypuff or something!” Gabriel scolded.

“Puppy’s a good word for him,” Force Justice said as he picked Solid Snake. “All bounce, no common sense”

“Guys, guys, I gotta show you this!” Marcus exclaimed as he almost slid past the media room again. He darted back and stood in the door. “Guys!” He covered his eyes as he turned the lights off. “You ready? Leave the holovid on!” He uncovered his eyes and half the people in the room jumped.

“Jesus Christ, D’Angelo!” Force snapped. “The hell?”

Marcus’ eyes were glowing like cats eyes did. “OK, first of all, rude. Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. Secondly, isn’t it neat?”

“What in the name of Zeus,” Musaaid hissed.

Vincent Lee picked Cloud Strife. “Damn, put the lights back on, that’s really creepy.”

Gabriel put his controller on the table and went to Marcus. “Are those the biotic lenses they gave you at the facility?” Gabriel asked and took Marcus’ face in his hand. He tilted Marcus’ face a few ways, watching the light reflect. Marcus’ eyes were still green, but now the whites of his eyes had a pale green shimmer to them, and they were reflecting light. Gabriel could see himself clearly in their glow.

Marcus nodded as best he could. “Yeah, once they realized I was seeing all the caches and lights, well, they realized my eyes worked TOO well. Human brains aren’t meant to process that much information, that’s why my head hurt so much.”

“When did you head hurt?” Gabriel demanded.

“Pretty much all the time,” Marcus admitted.

“Mijo,” Gabriel sighed and shook his head, “you have to tell people you’re in pain. No butts! Stop apologising!”

“I talk too much as it is. I tried not to, tried to be normal, but I’m just talking too much again. I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s not, no, Marcus, listen.” Gabriel put both hands on Marcus’ shoulders. “In the field chatter is a no-no.” He sighed at himself. Something about talking to Marcus made him want to talk like he was speaking to a child. “But here, in a safe environment, you tell people when you’re in pain!” he scolded. “Anyone who mocks you or tells you to shut up, they’re not kind people.” He turned to glare at the others in the room, and they all nodded.

Gabriel turned back again and glared at Musaaid.

He had changed from Princess Peach to Kirby, and he swapped back.

Gabriel hauled Marcus in the room. “C’mon, let’s get some Smash Bros. going.”

“Dibs on Daisy!” Marcus cheered and picked up the green controller.

  
  
  


Gabriel heard the door slide open, and he spotted Marcus in the doorway. “Did I give you access?” he asked dryly, and Jack shoved Marcus in.

“Hi.” Marcus waved nervously as Jack left. “He’s got a special class, so he dumped me on you.” Marcus sat on the bed and Gabriel lifted his arm. Marcus instantly settled next to him.

He gently took Gabriel’s left and and held it to his own. “ Your hands are so large,” he said quietly, and put his hands against Gabriel’s. Marcus’ fingers were almost an entire joint shorter than Gabriel’s. 

“You want some special attention?” Gabriel asked and wrapped his arm around Marcus.

“I’m just cold.” Marcus sunk into Gabriel’s side. He settled with a sigh.

Gabriel looked down at him. “So you don’t want a blowjob or anything?”

“No, I just, this is fine.” Marcus settled and gave a soft sigh. For several minutes they just lay there, Gabriel reading his textbook and Marcus fiddling with their hands. 

“Don’t you have your own homework?” he asked the young man, and Marcus shook his head. “Finished it already?”

“It’s not hard.” He snuggled deeper. “Computer programming is just another language to learn.”

They were quiet for a few more minutes, and Gabriel realized Marcus had fallen asleep, arms clutching his chest. Gabriel gently stroked his shoulder and head as best he could, adjusted Marcus a little, and made them both comfortable. 

Eventually his roomate returned. “Oh, c’mon, man, we had an understanding!” Dale Wayne exclaimed.

“He’s just sleeping, Wanye, relax. Kid’s had a hard week.”

“He’s not a kid,” Wayne said and shook his head. “He’s a Marine. He’s SEP. He’s almost six feet, Reyes.”

“He has little combat experience. He’s more cheerful than Jack. He’s fresh and naive, Wayne.” Gabriel adjusted Marcus a little. “Look at this round face. Look at this face and tell me he’s a full grown man.”

“He’s a full grown man you dicked down in the closet of the chapel,” Wayne snapped.

Gabriel put his datapad down and prodded Marcus in the cheek.

Marcus gave a buzzing whine and settled deeper into Gabriel’s side.

Gabriel held his hand out to Wayne, palm up, in a ‘see, see?’ gesture.

“He’s, like, eighteen, I swear!” Wayne insisted.

“I turned twenty-one four months ago,” Marcus muttered from Gabriel’s armpit.

“We started SEP four months ago!” Gabriel suddenly snapped. “When’s your birthday?”

“August eight. We started injections on the tenth, so I was twenty-one.” Marcus glared at Wayne from the safely of Gabriel’s arm. “And I’m not a kid. I took down some guy Floss’ size. I took down Floss.”

“Hard to take you seriously when you look like an insulted chipmunk,” Wayne suddenly laughed. He laughed harder when Marcus fumed at him.

“I’m going to hit the gym.” Marcus stomped away, and Gabriel sighed at Wayne.

  
  
  


Gabriel took some time to watch Marcus swimming. He had filled out considerably since SEP started, but Gabriel didn’t remember what Marcus looked like very well in the beginning. His first memory of Marcus was the young man slumped in the hallway, rosary in one hand, I.V. in the other, and bleeding out from a nosebleed. It had been easy to lift him up and take him to the infirmary, despite his own nausea and pain.

The second time he saw him, Marcus was praying for the 80s. 

“You know 83 was Jewish, right?” someone had asked, and Marcus nodded.

“His memory is a blessing,” Marcus said softly. 

Gabriel remembered thinking how young he was. He was soft, and gentle. He couldn’t have been a Marine.

But two days ago he had survived falling out of a tree, sniped two people from high places, rappelled down the front of a building built into a hill without hesitation, and taken down a foe with over half a foot of height on him.

Oh, he had panicked, yes, but he had come through eventually. Marcus had potential, and Gabriel wanted to mold him. He knew that if guided properly, Marcus could be great.

Right now, though, Marcus was swimming, gliding through the water with nary a ripple, and Gabriel suddenly noticed a tattoo he hadn’t seen before. It was on the underside of his left arm, almost in his armpit.

“You have ink?” Gabriel asked as Marcus swam closer. He held his hand out and Marcus let him haul him from the pool. “Lev 19:28?” 

“You shall not make any cuttings in your flesh on account of the dead or tattoo any marks upon you: I am the LORD.” he recited quickly.

“You got a tattoo that says thou shall not get a tattoo,” Gabriel grinned.

“On account of the dead,” Marcus countered. “I guess I’m done swimming. I could use a shower.” He tugged on Gabriel’s arm a little as he walked by him, and Gabriel turned to look at him. “Too subtle? I thought you would get that.”

“If you want to have sex, just ask. It’s not hard,” Gabriel informed him.

“I’m just not entirely sure how,” Marcus admitted.

“It’s easy. You just say, ‘do you want to mess around a little, and maybe get lucky?’” Gabriel said.

“Sure, since you’re offering,” Marcus said in a cheeky tone, but he couldn’t keep a straight face. 

Gabriel walked forward, put his shoulder to Marcus’ waist, and hauled him onto his shoulder. “OK, but we’re going to do it my way, got that?”

“Hey, wait!” Marcus snapped and kicked a little. “Don’t just move people! Didn’t we have this conversation before?”

“Yes. And it ended with us having sex my way. Did you disapprove last time?”

“Well, no,” he admitted. 

“Why don’t you want people to know you’re sleeping with me?” Gabriel asked in a careful tone.

“It’s, well,” Marcus stuttered. “I know it’s no big thing, but, still, I was brought up Catholic. I haven’t been in a few years, though, if that makes sense.”

“You’ve lapsed,” Gabriel noted and entered the locker room, taking care not to bang Marcus’ head on the wall like he did Jack’s the other day.

“I, yeah.” Marcus let himself be put down in front of the 90s locker row. “It’s like, if you’re gay, your a sinner going to hell. But God made me this way, so why did he set me up to fail? If he’s made of love, and made me from love, why would he torment me this way?”

Gabriel had many, many opinions on religion, but he kept them to himself.

“I mean, here I am in Puberty Two, Sexy Boogaloo, with a boner so hard it hurts, and I’m just supposed to ignore it? I can’t even help myself, because that’s a sin. It’s premarital sex with yourself, and gay sex, in my case . I can never win.” 

Gabriel watched as Marcus grabbed his towel and swapped his swimming shoes for his shower shoes. He followed him to a personal shower and locked the door behind them as Marcus stripped his trunks off. “Isn’t masturbation the lesser of the sins though? Why don’t you just help yourself more?” Gabriel asked as he lowered the shower seat and pulled Marcus into his lap.

“Because one sin feels so much better than the other,” Marcus said with a blush.

“Oh, so we’re sinners now, are we?” Gabriel asked. “Tell you what. I’m not going to touch you there.” Gabriel ran his thumb over Marcus’ lips. “You’re so smart, you can do this yourself. You’re magnificent, Marcus, never forget this.” He felt Marcus tremble. “You’re stronger than you think, Marcus, so very, very smart. You speak so many languages, you’re such a clever man.”

Marcus’ breath became a wet, gasping noise as Gabriel ran his hands over his face. He started to grind their cocks together, and Gabriel pulled himself back.

“No, no, mijo, you can do this without touching, I know you can. You’re so smart, Marcus, you can do this.” Gabriel rubbed his hands over Marcus’ back and shoulders and kissed his temple. 

Marcus slung his arms around Gabriel’s neck and hummed in agitation.

“You can do this, Marcus, you can cum for me without me touching you. You know you can, you’re very capable.”

“Oh, Gabe, please,” Marcus hissed in his ear, “let me cum.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Gabriel grinned. “You’re so beautiful Marcus. Your skin is so smooth. Such a nice color, like toasted wheat. It’s great when I get to touch you, Marcus.”

Marcus shuddered and gripped Gabriel tightly, and he leaned into Gabriel’s touch. 

“I want to touch you all over, Marcus, but I can’t, not until you cum for me. You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? Come on, let me hear your voice. It’s beautiful, Marcus, such a clear voice.” Every time Gabriel used his name, Marcus flushed.

Marcus was clearly enjoying the praise. He rocked, working his thighs and hips, but didn’t touch Gabriel like he wanted to. “I’m a good little boy, aren’t I?” he croaked out.

“You’re a man, Marcus, a good man. I shouldn’t have called you a boy. You’re strong and clever and very handsome. Such a good man you are.”

Marcus gave a shiver and a whimper and gripped Gabriel tighter. His breathing changed and he leaned closer.

Gabriel reached down and gripped Marcus’ cock and grinned. He was still hard, but Gabriel could feel the cum dripping from the condom. There wasn’t much, though. “You did it, Marcus. I’m proud of you. I knew you could do it” He tilted Marcus’ head up and nibbled on his neck. “Now, I want you to tell me exactly what you want. Come on, now, don’t be shy, Esmeraldo.” 

Marcus rocked into Gabriel’s hand. “It’s stupid.”

“Marcus, tell me what you like.” Gabriel’s voice was firmer, and this time, he wasn’t asking. He sat down and pulled Marcus into his lap, and Marcus’ legs wrapped around his waist.

“I like it when you hold me.” Marcus pulled himself closer, covering as much skin as possible “I like to be touching. I like being warm. I like it when you tell me I’m good.”

Gabriel adjusted Marcus’ arms and pulled him closer. “I like it when you listen to me. I like it when I get to go deep, and I love it when you sing for me. Can you make some noise for me, Marcus?”

Marcus nodded and Gabriel smiled warmly at him. 

“Now, I’m going to get you warmed up, then you’re going to get on my cock and bounce for me. That’s what I like.” Gabriel drizzled some lotion on his fingers and tapped Marcus’ hips, and Marcus lifted himself and spread his thighs. Gabriel slid two fingers in and spread them, and Marcus shuddered. “You’re doing good, Marcus.”

“Keep talking and I’m gonna cum again,” Marcus said softly.

“I know. You’re so smart for having figured it out.” He chuckled as Marcus flushed again, and he could feel Marcus’ erection against his thigh . Gabriel added a third finger and Marcus jumped under him. “Are you ready, mi joya?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” Marcus startled him by giving his a soft kiss. 

“You’re getting bolder,” Gabriel grinned.

“I don’t have to be on eggshells.” Marcus gently pet Gabriel’s temples with his thumb, and leaned a little closer. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“I am never going to hurt you,” Gabriel confirmed. 

“I kinda want you to,” Marcus said with a blush. “It feels good when you’re, you know. Within.” 

Gabriel decided Marcus was going to keep talking, so he inserted and spread his lubed fingers in Marcus’ ass. He grinned with Marcus leapt under him, and curled his fingers. Marcus’ face instantly reddened and he let out a sound, and Gabriel grinned. “I like it when you sing for me, remember?”

Marcus nodded, and he shifted his weight.

Gabriel squeezed his cock, popping some of the lotion bubbles, and Marcus’ breathing became more excited. Gabriel guided Marcus by his hips and inserted himself, and Marcus groaned a little. “Sing for me.”

Gabriel slowly started to rock his hips, and Marcus gave a squeaking noise. 

He then groaned as he settled lower. The two found a rhythm and began to move together, and Gabriel kissed Marcus’ cheek and ear. “I’m going deeper, Marcus.”

“Please go, please go, please go,” Marcus hissed. 

Gabriel slung one arm under Marcus’ knee and lifted, and Marcus groaned and caught his breath. Gabriel slung his knee over his shoulder, then listed to other one.

Marcus’ face almost blank out as Gabriel pressed deeper, and he leaned forward and bit Gabriel’s neck. “Più veloce. Di Più, più, dammi di più.” He bit back another moan. “More.”

“You want more?” Gabriel asked, and Marcus nodded. He tilted his hips and Marcus almost wailed in his ear, a hot, wet sound. “Is that good?” Marcus’s chest was pressed against his chest now, his cock trapped between them, rubbing against their abs.

Marcus’ voice was higher than normal. “È buono, è così buono.” He shuddered and bit into Gabriel’s shoulder. He bit harder when Gabriel gave a particularly strong thrust, and Gabriel shuddered with relief. 

“You’re always so good, Angel Eyes, you’re always a good time.” Gabriel petted Marcus’ face and pulled himself from Marcus. He adjusted their hips and gripped Marcus’ cock. “You’re so good, right now. You started really shy and really quiet, but you’ve so much and come so far.”

Marcus glowed under the praise. He panted and groaned as Gabriel gripped and squeezed, and he shuddered as he came. He flopped against Gabriel’s chest, breathing heavily, and he kissed Gabriel’s collarbone. “You know,” he said, and caught his breath. “You know what I like best about this?”

“What’s that, Esmeraldo?”

“It’s us.” He wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s chest, and Gabriel cradled him. “It’s, we do for each other.”

“Your boyfriend sounds pretty selfish.” Gabriel rubbed Marcus’ back.

“I, it’s like he,” Marcus said and faltered. “He just used my body to masturbate to. But you, you and Jack?” Marcus settled his head on Gabriel’s shoulder. “It’s about both of us.” He gave a soft sigh.

“What are you going to do once you’re out of SEP?” Gabriel asked gently.

“I can’t go back. Not now. He’s very controlling.” They settled into a more comfortable position. “Kept me from making friends. Had me hand him my paycheck.” He looked up into Gabriel’s eyes. “You said I might not be able to go back after this, that we might be sent God knows where. When you said that, I just, I felt happy. I wasn’t going back to him.” He settled again on Gabriel’s chest. “I’m free.”

Gabriel kissed the top of his head. “Yeah. You’re gonna be OK.”

They sat for a while, then Gabriel made him shower and head to the mess.


	8. Blood on the Snow Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another training mission goes wrong, this time with deadly results.

“Angel Eyes, report.” Gabriel’s voice was rough in the cold air.

“Three targets moving east, captain. One is exceptionally large, taller than Floss. Either that or his buddies are short. He’s got some sort of giant club, want me to take him out? I don’t think engage-”

“Hold your position,” Gabriel interrupted. “And the others?”

“Rifles, and I think a sword or a staff on the guy on the left’s back. Wears it like a ninja. They’re moving very smoothly. They know what they’re doing. Scanning for the other three.” Marcus looked over his scoop and exhaled. 

His eyes focused and shifted, and he worked at picking out the odd details. He looked over the trees and lets his eyes focus on their own, letting the lizard part of his brain see things his active brain overlooked. Three weeks of training had really helped him master his new eyesight. They had adjusted his biotic lenses a few times, and finally found a style that worked.

Something twitched into focus. “Sniper. In a pine tree, about six pines to the left of the big guy. She’s following him, I think.” It was extremely easy to move in the densely packed trees, if you were agile enough to use the branches as a personal walkway. Marcus turned his head and made a musing noise. “Two more, two more, where are you,” he sang to himself. “Behind, behind, I see them behind,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Two traveling behind. Another big guy and a normal guy.”

“Good job, keep those angel eyes on that sniper, D’Angelo. Pichelli, Lee, move into position.”

The last five outside missions had gone smoothly. People were rotated in and out of teams, and Marcus was finally assigned to Gabriel again. He hadn’t been on the winning team each time, but he had finally learned how to benefit from losing.

Gabriel had noted how much more mature Marcus was becoming. 

He hadn’t panicked in the field like he had the first mission, and was moving smoother with the others. He was still cheerful and light-hearted, and he still chatted a lot, but he was making great strides.

“What’s the plan, captain?” Enrico Flores, 08, asked.

“D’Angelo, stay on their sniper. We don’t know if they can see us yet.” Marcus’ exception vision was a great tool for Gabriel. “Try and get some numbers for me.”

Like the first one hundred, the two hundreds followed the same pattern. The first ten were average, being larger and stronger but with no particular benefits. The teens were faster than the tens, but not as bulky. The twenties were heavy and strong, and denser than the others. The thirties and forties were very strong, the thirties being larger. The fifties had massive stamina, the seventies were exceptionally well rounded, and the nineties faster and more agile. So far, the had only seen 187, and she was strong, but they weren’t sure what the other 180s’ skills were.

Marcus exhaled, focusing as Gabriel gave them orders. “Sniper moving, always staying fifty feet to the left of her team. Big guy is 237. Sword is 29 something. 296. Riffle is, cannot see, moving, 213.” He focused on the sniper, spotted her, and watched for over a minute. “Sniper settling in, setting her rifle brace. Can’t see number, no reference for height.

“Rear guard, D’Angelo?” Gabriel asked in a gentle tone. He had learned not to startle the sniper while he was focusing.

“Big guy is 234. Other is,” Marcus said and focused on his sleeve, “286. 236 is huge, guys. I really don’t think engaging him directly is a good idea.”

“How’s their movement?” Gabriel asked in an even tone. “How are they moving?”

Marcus watched them for a while. “Relying on hand gestures, sniper is settled in nice and tidy, 234 is guarding 286.”

“Can you hit them from your position?”

“Yeah, yes, sir.” Marcus’ voice had a dreamy quality to it Gabriel had learned to recognize as extreme focus. Had he even heard the other commands?

“D’Angelo, when I tell you, take out the sniper, then 237, then 286, got that? Then we move in. Everyone, 237 needs to go down.”

“Sniper, tank, guarded one one. Got it.” Marcus settled and focused on the sniper. He made sure his gun was loaded, and settled. “Waiting for signal.”

He didn’t know how long he waited, his mind focusing on his target, unaware of people moving around him. He was vaguely aware of how far away he was from everyone else, but it didn’t feel too far with the communicators. Gabriel saying his name snapped his mind back to reality.

“D’Angelo. D’Angelo? Angel Eyes. Fire.”

Marcus’ first shot struck the sniper’s shoulder, and she fell from the tree as the rubber bullet hit her. Her teammates had moved, and Marcus scanned for 237. He finally spotted him and waited, and once he seemed to stop moving, fired.

The shot missed by two inches, and 237 took cover. 

“Missed 237. He took cover, cannot get a shot. Looking for 286.” Marcus spotted movement and scowled.

Gabriel barked out orders. “Pichelli, Lee, D’Angelo, you’re on 237. Flores, take the ninja. Cobb, with me on the bodyguard.”

D’angelo hopped from the tree and started to run through the snow. He slid around the trees, gripped a branch, and hauled himself up. The snow fell around him in a flurry and he leapt to another tree. As he climbed higher something lodged itself in the branch near him, and he climbed higher.

“Ninja on me! 296, ninja!” he snapped as he kept going higher. He swung to another tree and ducked around the trunk, a trail of small blades following him. “Why does he get real knives and I get rubber bullets?” he lamented and went higher.

He pulled out a small hand mirror and used it to peek around the trunk, and a knife knocked if from his hand. Marcus shook his hand out and controlled his breathing.

“You out of knives yet?” he called down, but got no answer. He quickly looked left, then right, but saw nothing. “Guys, he’s a ninja.”

“I heard you the first time! Deal with him!” Gabriel snapped.

“Oh, you guys are on 237. Not good, not good, guy’s huge.” Marcus quickly dodged and swung out of the tree as 296 hauled himself up. He managed to zigzag, and heard a clink of metal as a knife almost winged him. He rolled, avoiding another knife, and realized he was being herded too late.

He slammed face-first into the snow when his ankles found the tripwire, and something slammed into the snow beside him. And odd humming came from the bramble surrounding some of the pine trees.

“By training rules, you’re dead.” 296’s sword was sticking in the ground near him. “Hey, I took out 98!” 296 said with a grin. “ Mr. Magic Eyes!”

“It’s Angel Eyes,” Marcus corrected. “Something’s wrong.” Marcus pointed to the area the sound came from. “Can you hear it?” A soft glow came from under a pine.

296 scoffed, then grew silent. Marcus sat up, letting 296 help him, and watch as he tilted his head and twitched an ear. “There’s a, what is that sound?” He pulled his sword out from the snow and wiped it quickly.

“And a glow.” Marcus activated his communicator. “Gabriel, glowing thing.” 

“Little busy!” Gabriel’s voice was stressed.

Marcus and 296 walked forward, rifle and sword drawn, and 296 used his sword to sweep the needles aside.

The bastion unit glowed and started to unfold, and the pair pulled back.

“Gabe, a bastion unit!” Marcus snapped, while 296 let his captain know. “It’s activating!”

“C’mon, Angel!” 296 grabbed Marcus’ elbow, and they turned and bolted. They could hear the omnic powering up and shifting forms, and Marcus pulled himself into a tree. 296 followed and they hid on the other side of the trunk.

A new voice chimed in on their communicators. “Remain where you are. Weapons are incoming.”

Marcus remained still as the omnic rattled on the ground. He held his breath and pressed against the tree, wondering just what was going to happen.

“I already have a weapon,” 296 hissed.

“Jackson, remain where you are. That is an order,” a new voice snapped.

Was that the other team’s captain? Marcus thought she was the other team captain. He kept himself as still as possible, but Jackson had started to bounce.

“Hey, hold still!” Marcus hissed at him.

“Jackson, what are you doing?” the captain snapped again. “Stay still!”

“It’s not awake yet,” Jackson hissed. “I can stop this thing right here!”

“Jackson!” the captain yelled, knowing it was a losing battle. “This is a direct order! Stay put! Stay with the sniper!”

“Yeah, Jackson, you can’t leave me alone out here!” Marcus insisted. “I’m just a little guy, not even six feet, I can’t protect myself! I’m a sniper, not a boxer!” 

Jackson dropped from the tree and Marcus swore several times, honest swears, too, and not his usual family-safe swearing replacements.

“Stay. Put.” Gabriel’s voice grounded him. “Radio silence.”

Marcus eyes went wide and he shut down his communicator, then pat his pockets for electronics. He heard a weird klaxxon as Jackson engaged. Marcus held his breath as Jackson screamed, and he heard the bastion unit give four staccato sounds.

Jackson was quiet.

Marcus’ right thumb started rubbing over his index finger, the motion of moving his rosary beads.

This was training! Why was there a bastion?

His thoughts were interrupted as something crashed into the tree. Marcus gripped a branch and hauled himself higher, and something snatched as his feet. He hopped up to another branch as the bastion unit slammed into the tree again.

Marcus gave a yelp and worked his way through the trees, hoping the thick cluster of pines would slow the monster down. He made his way higher and deeper, but suddenly had to stop as he reached a surprise clearing. Marcus held his position as the omnic crashed through the trees.

There was another inverted electronic noise, and he could hear Jackson shouting as his sword hit metal. “Get down here and help me!” he shouted. “They’re weak at the back of the head! Shoot it! Shoot it!”

Marcus didn’t know what to do. What good could his rubber bullets do against steel and ceramic plate? He turned his communicator back on.

“WHERE ARE YOU?” Gabriel snarled. “Don’t turn it off, just keep quiet, you damn fool! And quit apologizing!”

“Sorry!” Marcus yelled back.

“Hold your position, keep quiet, and don’t let it see you! Drones are incoming with weapons!”

“Ninja boy is sword fighting it!” Marcus squeaked.

“That. Idiot. 98, move, leave, get out!” the other captain commanded. 

Marcus choose to remain still, and pressed himself into the branches.

He heard Jackson give a shriek of rage and pain, and things went quiet. There was a sickly, wet noise, and Marcus swallowed.

His communicator pinged, and he heard the omnic moving quickly in his direction.

“I think its’ tracking my com!” he hissed. “Sorry, sorry!” Marcus tossed the communicator as hard as he could, and the omnic, now sporting a red hand, followed it.

While the bastion was distracted with the tossed communicator, Marcus moved a few trees away, then held still. He was only thirty feet away, now, that was enough distance, right? He was certain the omnic had crushed his communicator, and he could hear it moving behind him.

He held still, keeping his breath even, and listened to it stomp in the snow. Finally it changed form, and Marcus exhaled. Was it leaving? He made his way higher into the tree, unsure what else to do.

Marcus moved carefully, and inched his way into another tree. The dense pines were easy for him to traverse, his own personal roadway of sap and bark and needles. He exhaled and examined his surroundings, but couldn’t see anyone. Where was everyone? He couldn’t have gone that far!

The screaming hail of turret fire filled the air, and Marcus didn’t know if he managed not to scream as the trees around him exploded. ‘Why do I always hit branches on the way down?’ he thought to himself as he crashed through another bough. 

He hit the ground, followed by branches and bullets, and was quickly buried in snow. A branch landed inches from his face, quickly followed by most of the trunk and then darkness.

213 gripped Gabriel’s arm and hauled. “We have to move!”

“I’m not leaving D’Angelo behind!” he snarled and hauled his arm free.

“We’re no good to them dead, Reyes,” Pichelli said.

Gabriel fumed and nodded. “We need to get the weapons drops.”

They communicators dinged, and Gabriel quickly tapped it. “The omnic is tracking your communicators. Scatter them and move to the west as quickly as you can. Be prepared for extraction.”

“We have men out there, commander!” Gabriel protested.

“You will scatter your communicators, Reyes, and move west for extraction. That is an order.”

Right as Gabriel was going to argue, Lee put a hand on his shoulder. “We need to go, Gabe. D’Angelo’s a scrapper, he’ll be fine. He’s with a ninja, for crying out loud!”

237 nodded. “Yeah, Mike’s a little weird, but he’s good at his job. Wait, you’re Reyes! You haven’t lost a match yet! And D’Angelo? Magic eyes?”

“It’s Angel Eyes,” Gabriel snapped as he pulled his communicator off. He flung it as hard as he could to the east, imagining it was something foul like pre-processed garlic powder. He hated pre-processed garlic powder.

He sighed, looked south to Marcus’ last known position, and headed west. “C’mon, we gotta move.” He said a silent prayer as best he could, but it was more of a demand of God to keep Marcus and Jackson safe.


	9. Release and Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus is found, and he and Gabriel talk. Gabriel gets more information than he expected Marcus to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note there in a non-consensual scene in Marcus' flashback. It is marked by a series of asterisks  
> * * * * *  
> before and after the scene.
> 
> Also note the tags have been updated to include  
> Rape/Non-con Elements  
> While its always there in the background, this is the most detail it will go into.

Gabriel was startled just how easy it was to get an audience with Commander Finn, the base commander. “Permission to lead a team to scout for our missing men, commander.”

“Denied, Reyes.” Commander Finn folded her hands together.

“He is OUT THERE, commander!” Gabriel insisted. “We can’t just leave a man behind!”

“There were two omnics, Reyes.” She nodded at his surprise. “I am aware of your affection for D’Angelo,” Commander Finn said cooly. “We have no intent of leaving him out there. His communicator was destroyed and we cannot track him, so we’re bringing in some rescue dogs to help with the search.” She flipped a page over and put it back.

“Last year we shot down a transport, and the pair must have been part of it. They landed, and either hid under the trees or were trapped there, and they must have deactivated instead of hitting the self repair button. That would be why we couldn’t track them. Jackson and D’Angelo must have awakened them somehow, but we have no way of knowing how. A few rounds from a helicopter destroyed the omnics, so search and rescue had begun.”

“Ma’am, this seems like more information than I’m usually given?” Gabriel said with a cocked eyebrow. “Usually in this situation I would be told, ‘we’re working on it, just do your job,’ and be sent along my way.”

“Reyes, I have seen enough movies to know that a man like you is most likely to break out with a rag-tag crew and either save the day by finding and rescuing D’Angelo and Jackson, freeing the trapped souls of the mountain and winning the money to save the orphanage,” Commander Finn said in a dry voice, ‘or, if it’s a horror movie, finding more omnics and losing your team, all of which adore your little jewel-eyed friend, inadvertently leading the omnics back to base, and only you, Morrison and D’Angelo survive the explosion you use to destroy the secret omnium the evil military built under the mountain.”

Gabriel stared at Commander Finn, dumbfounded, for half a minute. “Except all three of us are gay or bi so there’s no way all three of us will survive.”

“Then you or Morrison sacrifice yourselves, and unnecessarily I might add, for the other two. Or D’Angelo, to prove that he’s not a wilting damsel in distress. We have a team of dogs on the way, and drones out scanning for body heat and movement. So, stay put, we’re working on it. Do your job, and go on your merry way, Reyes. We spent almost five million dollars on each of you, and you are all too valuable to lose two of you so close to completion in the program.”

Reyes pressed his lips together, then nodded. It would do, for now.

“Dismissed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gabriel left the office, deep in thought.

  
  
  


It was dark again. 

Marcus gave a soft hum and tried to move. 

The trunk covered his legs and hips, and he could barely move. His body was stiff and he wondered how long it would take for him to die. Would Gabriel and Jack come for him? Would the military? The military spent a lot of money on him, they couldn’t just waste that money.

He thought of his mother, always pinching pennies. She would demand he not grow for one more year to get more use out of his school uniform. She would have Leona, his older sister, watch videos online on how to make her own cosmetics rather than buy new ones. Never mind the price was about the same. Nothing special for the holidays. At night she would plug their car into a random neighbor’s electrical outlet.

The only reason she would save him was because they spent so much money making him bigger and stronger.

At least she would look for him. His father? His father hadn’t really cared for him since he was born, so, wait.

Wait.

He was now five foot, ten inches. Seventy inches. 177.80 centimeters. 1.778 meters. He was two inches taller than his father, now, and weighed more, but Marcus had muscle mass.

His father couldn’t bully him any more.

Would his family know him in they saw him again? Did he want to see them again? He wondered if they sold his belongings. The only thing of real value he had was his jacket.

Marcus shuddered.

The jacket.

He didn’t want it any more.

He hadn’t wanted it for a long time.

Maybe his mother sold his phone and tablet, it wouldn’t surprise him. His Game Plus System and his games. His boots. His clothes. She would have returned his school books. He imagined she sold his uniform back for a few scant dollars after he left. He honestly wasn’t expecting to return to anything, least of all Newark, New Jersey.

Was his family safe? Did they escape the omnics? Was Newark still contested? Did the cathedrals still stand? He loved the Cathedral Basilica of the Sacred Heart. He once had a dream he was getting married in front of the south entrance once, and was so angry when he woke up. He could never get married in a cathedral.

  
  
  


Gabriel didn’t mean to end up in the 80s-90s hall. He just started jogging and found himself there. Jamison Reeve, 99, and Betina Smyth, 92, were standing in the door to Marcus and Carlton’s room, and Gabriel slowed to a walk.

“Hey, 24,” Jamison said. “We were just, you know, trying to distract Carlton. He’s actually missing the little guy a lot.”

“Even you other 90s call him small fry?” Gabriel asked with a grin.

“Well, he IS shorter than I am,” Betina said. She had been almost six feet when she came in, willowy and fair, and now she was an Amazon, statuesque and intimidating. “He’s just so, you know, young. Cheerful.”

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, he’s a bright spot, that’s for sure. He’s really opened up, too. I remember when I first met him he was so reclusive.”

Carlton nodded from his bed. “Yeah, hardly said a word that wasn’t an apology.” He held out a book. “You know how he always trades stuff for pens and paper? Have you seen his art?”

“I’ve seen his maps, he’s great at cartography.”

Tim North, 96, stood up from the bed and gestured for Gabriel to sit next to Carlton.

“Here, take a peek.” Carlton handed Gabriel a book.

“Should we be going through his books?” Gabriel asked as Carlton opened to a page. “This is personal and damn that is beautiful.”

The book was full of sketches of buildings, weapons, furniture, rooms from different perspectives, and people from all angels. Gabriel was looking at a portrait of Jack done in black ink, looking over his shoulder as he hauled a coat on, eyes in blue ink. Musaaid was tying his boots, his turban a little askew, all made from tiny dots. Floss glowered in the corner like a cat escaping a shower, all scratches and short, angry lines. Director Finn stood in front of her office, all sharp angles and art deco curves like a stylized cartoon, but she still looked formal and dangerous. Gabriel thought of how graceful his maps were, how they were so precise and well made.

“They let him draw, but he has to hand in everything. Someone comes by every few days and raids his trunk. He doesn’t mind, so long as he can draw.” Carlton handed a stack of pages over, and Gabriel flipped through it.

He spotted a map of some sort of fantasy land, with names and notes written in Italian. Most of his personal notes were, he realized, recognizing a few words that were similar to Spanish. “He’s got talent.” Gabriel blushed as he found a picture of himself, head tilted to show his neck, tugging on his gym shirt to cool himself down.

“Rumor has it he’s hidden a stash of drawn porn,” Tim said with a grin. “All classy and elegant. He denies it, however, but you should see him blush!”

“Did you check his Bible?” Carlton asked as he flipped through the next few pages of the sheath he was holding.

Despite Gabriel and Betinas’ protests, Tim opened Marcus’ trunk and pulled out a New Jerusalem Bible. He flipped through the pages, and something stuck out. Tim marked the place with his thumb and pulled the note out. “Huh. It’s a list, some have a star.” He turned the scrap over and read it, then turned to the front. “Duomo di Milano, starred, Seville, Santa Maria del Fiore, starred, Chartres, Saint Mark’s Basilica, starred, Notre Dame, hey, these are cathedrals, right? I think it’s a bucket list.”

“What else is on there?” Jamison asked.

“OK, put that back, that’s too personal!” Gabriel snapped. “He’s friendly, but still private.”

Tim nodded and put the Bible back in the trunk.

“I know we’re all worried, but he’ll be fine. He’s a survivor, he’ll come back to us.” Gabriel ran his thumb over the ink lines of Jack’s face and refused to believe otherwise.

  
  
  


The light dimmed, and Marcus felt a chill spread through him.

Were they looking for him? Did they notice he was gone? Did Gabriel know he was gone? Of course Gabriel would know he was gone! Why didn’t they find him yet?

Marcus was so cold and Gabriel was so warm.

Did he deserve to sleep with him? Both of them? Was that right? Was he just selfish to want both of them?

Gabriel and Jack were obviously more attracted to each other than with him. Was he just a novelty? They honestly cared for him, right?

Was it right for him to continue this relationship?

Moraly, or spiritually?

Did God even care who he slept with?

God didn’t seem to care when it was his first lover.

Was he even a lover?

Marcus’ mind wandered in circles all night.

Marcus didn’t know if he slept or not, but it was bright out again. When was it light again? He couldn’t make out anything but a slightly brighter glow, not even enough to cast a shadow. At least he knew which was was up, though.

His mind continued to run in circles.

It was hard to see, and hard to hear, and hard to breath, and hard to move. The only thing he knew now was cold and he was surrounded by the scent of pine. Had the branch saved him? He broke it when the omnic slammed against the tree, but it still covered him. Could trees feel? Did the tree mind? Marcus wanted to talk to himself, comfort himself, but he didn’t know what to do.

Could he talk? His brain certainly could, it hadn’t stopping running in circles since he woke up the first time.

Marcus gave a soft note, C flat, maybe, and nodded as best he could. He could still talk. Could he yell? Marcus tried, but couldn’t make a loud noise.

Did he sleep? Did time pass? Was time passing? There was a blinding light. Oh, it must be day again . How long had it been ? He was hungry, he was lonely, and he was cold.

Would he die out here, alone and forgotten? He let out a loud sound of anguish, but he couldn’t even sob properly.

Everything was so cold. At least the sun was rising and it was getting brighter.

  
  
  


“Here, over here, Dozer found him!” Dozer’s handler shouted. He was startled when Marcus blinked and looked up at him. “Well, I‘ll be damned, the guy’s still alive! Get a neck brace!”

None of that made any sense to Marcus . Who was found ? Did this man lose something? What were they doing to his neck?

“Are they OK?” he tried to croak out. No one answered. “Are they OK?” he asked again, but no sound came out. Was he even talking?

“Hold tight, 98, we’re taking you home,” someone said, but it was a foreign language to him.

“Gabriel?” he asked, but they were busy putting him on a stretcher. “Jack?” At least he thought he asked.

“You’re fine, buddy, you’re gonna be OK!”

Marcus let them carry him away, grateful to be out of his snowy prison.

  
  
  


“Extraordinary.” 

Marcus blinked and sighed. He didn’t like this man.

“Three days, core temperature of 28 degrees, oxygen level of 94, and he’s still alive! We have brain functions! High brain functions! He’s thinking! He should be a SEPsicle, but he’s alive and thinking!”

“Then can he hear us?” a gentle voice asked.

Gabriel.

He came.

Marcus exhaled as loudly as he could and tried to lift his hands.

“Hey, there, Angel Eyes!” Gabriel said softly after shoving past the doctor. “You holding up OK?”

“Cold.”

Gabriel placed his ear close to Marcus’ lips. He listened and nodded as Marcus repeated himself. “He’s cold.” He absently petted Marcus’ cheek, and Marcus tilted his head into Gabriel’s hand.

“Of course he’s cold!” the doctor exclaimed. “He spent three days buried in the snow. We have to warm him slowly, though. We’ve got the hemodialysis machine running, and the humidified oxygen,” the doctor explained, pointing to machines Marcus was hooked up to. “We’re learning a lot about what temperature extremes you guys can take! Now we just need to know what the top temperature you can take is.”

“Fine, fine, do your science thing. Can I get my man another blanket?” Gabriel’s fingers were cold as he pulled them from Marcus’ face, and he adjusted the blankets.

“What, hang on.” The doctor fiddled with his tablet and nodded. “No, not yet. We need to control his warming. Maybe in a few hours, though.”

“All right. I’m just gonna sit here and talk with him.” Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed and took Marcus’ hand. “You are so cold, Esmeraldo. Don’t worry, they’ll get you fixed up, warm you up slowly so you don’t overheat. You’re gonna be OK.” Gabriel placed his hand on Marcus’ face again, worried how cool he was, and Marcus leaned into his touch. “Hey, want to hear about the latest episode of Questa Estate Magica?”

Marcus managed to nod, and Gabriel started to explain the latest episode of the telenovela.

  
  
  


It took three days for Marcus to safely thaw and finally thoroughly awaken. In that time a good deal of SEP had come and visited, and many brought small presents. The table next to him had a slowly growing pile of pens, paper, condiment packages, boot laces, a fresh comb that was still in the wrapper, a bracelet made from gum wrappers, and other trinkets.

Gabriel had stolen a can of chicken broth from the kitchen and heated it up in a cup for Marcus. He thought it was slightly disgusting, but Marcus had lit up the moment Gabriel had joked about Marcus drinking it, so how could he refuse?

Marcus took a long drink of his heated chicken flavored sodium water. “Hey, Gabe?” Marcus asked and settled back against his pillow. “I, it’s a dumb question, but, can I call you my first?”

“First what, Esmeraldo?” Gabriel asked and tugged the blanket back up over Marcus’ shoulder.

“My, you know, my FIRST,” Marcus said. “My actual first, was, well,” he said and trailed off. He took another drink. “I’d like to pretend it was you instead.”

“I don’t mind, Marcus.” Gabriel kept his hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Mine was, well, not horrible, but, hey, neither of us knew better and thought we had a good time.” 

"Not me." Marcus drew the blanket around him. “I’ve never told anyone,” he admitted.

“Maybe getting it off your chest will help, mi joya.”

Marcus nodded and drew the blanket tighter.

“Are you sure you want to tell me this?” Gabriel asked, and Marcus nodded.

He closed his eyes and remembered.

  
  
  


* * * * *

“Why do you have to be sixteen,” Rick said and shook his head. He dragged his fingertips along Marcus’ cheek and drew their foreheads together. The motel room was noisy and smelled slightly off, but Marcus didn’t care. He was with Rick.

Marcus’ breath caught in his throat. “I’ll be any age you want me to be,” he croaked out, entirely unsure why his voice wouldn’t work. His Italian accent had returned, slurring some words together.

“No, see, that won’t work, poodle. You’re just a child.” Rick clicked his tongue at him.

Marcus could feel Rick’s breath on his lips, and a ripple of wanting crawled through him. “I’m not a child,” he insisted. When Rick pulled back Marcus surged forward, pressing their lips together.

He was unprepared for the deeper, more intimate kiss Rick returned.

Rick drew his lips along Marcus’ cheeks, ear and neck, then bit the place his neck met his shoulder. He grinned when Marcus let out a soft groan. “You kiss like a child. I’ll have to teach you how to kiss like a man. ” Rick dug his hands into Marcus’ hair and hauled his head back to continue to work on his neck. His beard scratched Marcus’ skin.

The teen melted and his knees went limp, and Rick’s grip on his hair became painful. He stiffened, though, as an alarm went off on Rick’s phone.

Rick let go. “Midnight,” he said softly into Marcus’ ear, his breath too hot. “It’s August eighth. Happy seventeenth birthday, poodle.” He pulled back, and Marcus leaned into him. “I got you something.” Rick pushed Marcus away by his shoulders, turned off the alarm, and reached into his luggage. He pulled out a large, reusable shopping bag stuffed with tissue paper and handed it over. “Here, open it.”

Marcus eagerly pulled out the tissue paper and felt inside, then pulled out the Bounty Crew leather jacket in awe. “It’s, it’s amazing! I’ve wanted one for ages!” he hissed, tears in his eyes. No one had ever given him such a nice present before! The band jackets were over three hundred dollars on the band website. “Thank you, Rick! How did you know?”

Rick hauled the jacket around Marcus and drew it around his shoulders. He gripped the front and dragged Marcus close. “How could I not? You love Bounty Crew, poodle. They’re your favorite band.”

He pulled Marcus into another kiss and gripped Marcus’ ass, his fingers meeting resistance from Marcus’ jeans. Rick then pulled the jacket off and tossed it on the far bed, then hauled up Marcus’ shirt. “Why don’t you thank me properly, poodle.” It was not a request.

Marcus let Rick undress him, fear and arousal conflicting inside of him. He let Rick turn him around push him onto the bed and lay on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around the pillow and closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

It was supposed to hurt, Rick assured him. You don’t always orgasm on the first time, even the second, Rick said in a comforting voice. It’s like any sport or physical activity, it takes practice. There’s so many things about sex you don’t know, Rick had told him.

Marcus didn’t know he could say ‘no.’

* * * * *

  
  
  


“Shit,” Gabriel said once Marcus finished. He slung an arm around Marcus’ shoulder and hauled him into a side hug. “So, um, you’re from Newark, right? Jersey?”

“Yes, but I was born in Rome, and no, you can’t murder my ex-boyfriend!” Marcus snapped.

“Wasn’t gonna kill him,” Gabriel said with a shrug.

“No.” Marcus stared him in the eye. “Please. It’s over. I ’m not going back to him. I’m not trapped by him any more. I don’t want anyone else to know. I just, thank you for listening.”

Gabriel nodded and gave Marcus a shake. He then stayed and talked to Marcus about idle gossip until he finally dozed off, still drinking the chicken broth. Gabriel gently covered Marcus with the blankets, emptied the cup, tidied his gift pile, and went to walk out.

He paused, drew a hand over Marcus’ face, and watched as Marcus sighed and slipped deeper into sleep.

  
  
  


Gabriel walked into the media room, noted the people inside, and gestured to a few of them. “With me. Now.” He left no room for negotiation as he turned and left.

Jack, Musaaid, Pichelli, Crissy and Carlton Salinas followed him to a store room, and Gabriel locked the door. It was crowded, but they could all stand almost without touching.

“OK, so, we’re all worried about Marcus’ last boyfriend. Right?” He looked at the nods. “He was an abusive predator who didn’t take no for an answer.”

Jack’s fair face darkened. “This guy got a name?”

Musaaid nodded. “It won’t be hard to track him down. Marcus worked in the main recruiting office, someone would remember him.”

“Guys,” Carlton Salinas said, “just, leave the guy alone.” 

Crissy already had her datapad pulled up. “Dang it, I thought the directory might have recruiting offices listed since they’re, you know, government buildings.”

Carlton tugged on Crissy’s sleeve. “We can’t say we’re his friend and go plan something like this behind his back.”

“Don’t you care what happened to him?” Crissy demanded.

“I do, but he said no, and we should respect that!” Carlton snapped back.

“Carlton's right,” Jack said with a sigh. “We should respect him.”

“He did say he’s never going back,” Gabriel admitted. “I just, damn, he was just a kid! That guy is just a predator and I really want to snap his neck.”

“You’d be a good neck snapper,” Jack said and patted Gabriel’s arm. “Ten out of ten, would let snap again.”

“My concern,” Musaaid added, “is that Marcus isn’t his first and won’t be his last. When he’s feeling better, Gabe, you should mention that.”

“Why me?” Gabriel asked.

“He likes you best,” Jack said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Gabriel nodded. He always know it to be true, but admitting it just seemed like too much like bragging. “When he’s feeling better, and when the opportunity arises. Until then we keep quiet about this.”

The others nodded, and Gabriel trusted they would hold their tongues.


	10. Marcus' Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last night of passion and it's off to do their jobs!

“Hey, guys!” Marcus’ voice was quiet over the din of the mess hall, but he was still heard.

Pichelli quickly launched himself from his chair, almost flattening Vincent Lee, and he scooped Marcus up by his armpits. “Tappeto!” he cheered as he gave Marcus a playful toss, almost striking Marcus’ head into the tall ceiling. He dropped Marcus into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re out of the med bay!” he said and swung Marcus a few times.

Marcus laughed and hugged Pichelli back. “And people call me the cheerful one!”

Pichelli put him on the ground, collected himself, and nodded. “Good to have you back on your feet, 98.” He gave Marcus a solid slap on the back.

“Good to be back, 35.” Marcus clapped his shoulder and grinned.

“C’mon, Angel Eyes, let’s get you some dinner!” Jack said and led Marcus to the line. “They have got the WORST polenta I’ve ever had.”

Marcus examined the grain mess before him. “Not even passable as grits,” he mused.

At his own table, Floss fumed a little. “What do they see in that fop?” he muttered into his bottle of water.

“Well, he’s nice, for one thing,” Flint answered. He held up his hand and counted on his fingers. “He shares his condiment packages, he doesn’t yell at people, he apologizes when he throws you during hand to hand training, he doesn’t call people nasty names,” he mused. “You know, the opposite of what you do. You should try that.” Flint nodded, then winced when Floss smacked his head.

“Yeah, he doesn’t do that either.” Flint picked up his tray and moved to another table. “Hey, Glenn, hey, Georgia, how are you guys?”

Floss glared, then slapped the table, splattering himself with crappy corn gruel that was neither grits or polenta.

  
  


“What was it like?” Jack asked as he watched Marcus take aim. They were using the outside shooting range, with far more people patrolling than usual. Jack missed how bright Marcus’ face would light up whenever they were allowed outside. Now, his bright eyes were hidden behind a visors he didn’t care for the snow.

“Cold.” Marcus tilted ever so slightly. “I’m always so cold now. Freezing.” He exhaled and adjusted his posture. “Might be damage from hibernating, wait, no, torpor, they call it torpor, or might be psychological.” He adjusted his vision and fired, then swore. “Off by a bit.”

Jack adjusted his binoculars. “Marcus.” He looked down at his friend. “Marcus, you did a bulls eye. Inside your other bulls eye. From a mile away. No scope.”

“Yeah, and off center by about half a centimeter.” Marcus adjusted his hips and wriggled his shoulders. “I’m better than this.” He exhaled. “Pick a target.”

“Anything?” Jack asked, and Marcus gave a nod. “OK, two inches below the right eye.”

Marcus nodded again and focused his breathing. After a minute he fired, and Jack grinned as he adjusted his binoculars again.

“You’ve gotten really good at this!” he said and nudged Marcus’ arm.

“Ah, no, Jack, I’m off center!” he lamented and adjusted himself again. “Thing is, I can’t do it from so far away unless I focus.”

“That’s fair. Hey, Marcus?” Jack asked.

“Just said I need to focus, Jack,” Marcus said quietly.

“That’s why I’m here, Angel Eyes. To distract you.” He looked down as Marcus centered himself again. “Why is your name Marcus and not Marco?” he asked as Marcus adjusted himself again. “You’re Italian.”

Marcus was quiet for a while, and Jack didn’t know if in thought of his name or concentration on his shooting. “I was named after a firefighter who saved my mom’s life. German dude. Might be my real dad, I don’t know.”

“Shit, really?” Jack asked, eyebrows up.

“No, Jack, my dad is my dad.” Marcus rolled his eyes and wriggled his hips back into place.

Jack laughed and nudged him.

“Jaaaaaack!” Marcus whined. “I’m off center again!”

“That’s why I’m here, I’m your personal distraction! You need to learn to work with distractions!” Jack suddenly grinned a delightfully wicked grin. “And you’re doing so well, Angel Eyes.” He watched as a blush crept up along Marcus’ neck as he patted his bottom. “You’re aim is so good,” his said in a husky voice and ran his finger over Marcus’ shoulder. “I’ll bet you can hit dead center, right in the target’s eye, you’re such a good shot.” He touched the back of Marcus’ neck.

Marcus’ neck shot went off early and wide, missing the target by at least twenty feet.

“D’Angelo!” a voice snapped on the radio. “Keep your shots in your own lane!”

“Sorry, sir!” he squeaked out. He blushed and continued to glare at Jack, who smiled down at him. “Just you hush your mouth!”

“What was that, 98?” the radio asked.

“Not you, not you! My distraction!” Marcus insisted quickly.

“Deal with it, D’Angelo.” His radio clicked as the monitor changed channels. The entire exercise was to shoot while distracted.

Jack drew his hand from Marcus’ neck to his ass. “Yeah, D’Angelo, deal with your distraction.” He looked down and grew concerned at the worried look on Marcus’ face. “What’s wrong?”

“Jack, please stop,” Marcus said in a quiet voice. “I, I’m really fond of you, but,” he said as his voice trailed off.

“ _He_ did that?” Jack asked quietly. “I won’t do it again, honest.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s that, you know.” Marcus lined up his next shot, and adjusted his hips again. 

Jack waited until Marcus exhaled before leaning in. “Got a stiffy?”

Marcus’ next shot hit the dirt ten feet in front of his target, and he hung his head. “Unprofessional.”

“You take your sniping seriously,” Jack noticed. “Which is why I’m here to help make you a better shooter by distracting you.” He waited for Marcus to line up a shot. “And make it worth your while if you get another bulls eye, he said softly in Marcus’ ear.”

Marcus hit a tree in the next lane. “Jack,” he hissed in a warning tone.

Was Marcus actually getting mad? Jack rubbed his shoulders as he lined up the next shot. Marcus jumped when someone else’s bullet hit his lane, and he wondered how the person in the next row was being distracted.

“Freaking parenthesis you are heavy!” Marcus suddenly huffed. “Get off of me!”

“Nope.” Jack had straddled Marcus’ waist and was sitting on his butt. “Not until you get that bulls eye. Maybe Gabe will help.”

“I, I might have a confession,” Marcus said and shifted under Jack’s weight.

“You’re Catholic, that’s a given.” Jack pressed his thumbs into Marcus’ shoulders.

“I don’t think I can sleep with you guys anymore.” Marcus fired, finally hitting the target again. “I know how you two feel about each other.” Marcus thought about the tender glances, the tips of their fingers touching, the worry on their face while the other was on a different training mission. “You’ve got some really chemistry and I don’t want to come between you.” Marcus blushed and took another shot. “But that’s a lie,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“Marcus,” Jack said softly with fondness in his voice. 

“Did he mention anything?” Marcus asked and exhaled. “People have quit asking me about everything.”

Jack waited for him to take his shot. “We actually spoke about it. We agreed not to pry anymore.”

“I appreciate that.” 

“We’re still concerned,” Jack said and leaned back, screwing up Marcus’ next shot. “But you’re a full grown man capable of running your own life. New target?”

“New target.”

Jack pressed a button and the target down the lane fizzled out and was replaced with a new one. He then returned to the place Marcus’ spine met his neck, and Marcus gave a bubbling noise. “Hey, deal still stands. Get that bulls eye, I’ll get your bulls eye.”

“You are the woooooorst,” Marcus groaned as Jack kissed the back of his neck. Marcus shrugged Jack from his shoulders, focused, and fired again.

He continued to miss for most of the afternoon, until finally hit made his mark, two inches below the left eye.

“I believe I said right,” Jack said as he looked through the binoculars.

A bullet hole appeared under the right eye. Before he could speak again, both eyes were shot out.

“Well,” Jack said with a nod, “you’ve earned that blow job.”

  
  


Wayne, Gabriel’s room mate, was on a training mission, so they were in his room. Jack had wasted no time in hauling his shirt off, and once Marcus was free of his, hauling him into a tight embrace.

“I have some assignments to go over,” Gabriel snapped over Marcus’ pleased moan.

They were twisted around each other, and Jack made sure to bumped into Gabriel as he leaned back.

Jack gripped Marcus’ hair and felt him go stiff, and not in the fun way. “Sorry, sorry, forgot you didn’t like that.” He quickly let go and backed into Gabriel’s bed, pulling Marcus down on him by his hands.

Marcus quickly straddled Jack’s hips and nibbled on his neck. He had recovered much quicker this time than last week when Gabriel had tugged his hair.

Gabriel had learned the past few months what made Jack work. A bit rough, a bit aggressive, but nothing too overwhelming. Jack could, and would, argue for dominance, and they were still ironing out the kinks in the relationship. He was chatty after a good romp, and liked to lay close, but not too close, afterwards.

Marcus, however, needed a more delicate touch. Pinning his hands down and yanking his hair could shut him down, holdovers from his abusive relationship, and he didn’t like being moved too suddenly. As a contrast, Gabriel could probably bowl with Jack and Jack would thank him for it.

Marcus liked to follow instructions, though, ever eager to please, and was very enthusiastic about the entire ordeal. Afterwards he was clingy and quiet, happy to go to sleep tucked into an armpit or sprawled on his chest, so long as he got skin-to-skin contact.

Gabriel checked on his writing assignment and shrugged. He wasn’t going to get anything done tonight, so he stripped and settled next to Jack. 

While desiring physical contact and thriving on it, Marcus didn’t like doggy style, or anything that didn’t leave him room to move. He would bottom, but not be on the bottom.

But Gabriel knew what he did like. “Come on, you two, make room.” He propped himself up and drew Marcus towards him, and Marcus sighed happily. 

Sometimes Marcus was content just to lean against someone and suck out their body heat, something he was more inclined to do since being buried for three days. Today, however, he easily showed Gabriel how much more he wanted. He quickly ground into Gabriel’s hips, and Gabriel managed to get him turned around.

Marcus eagerly slid down to sit in Gabriel’s lap, wiggling his ass a little. Where was their shy little choir boy? Gabriel was glad he was recovering, though.

“I understand you earned a treat tonight,” he said quietly, and ran his fingers along Marcus’ waist. “That you were very good at training. That you’re a great shot.”

“I tried my best,” Marcus gasped out as Jack knelt in front of him. “I’m working on getting better.” He let Jack adjust his legs, bouncing a little on Gabriel’s lap.

“You always work so hard, my joya, mi Pozole Verde de Pollo,” Gabriel said in a bedroom voice, and Marcus gave a satisfied hum. ‘So,’ he thought to himself, ‘as long as he thinks it’s praise, he’ll get off.’ That would make his night a little more entertaining. He was actually running out of little things to praise him on and wanted to keep things fresh.

“Abre la lata de maíz pozolero cuela y enjuaga muy bien los granos hasta que el agua salga clara. Clara, clara, Esmeraldo!” Gabriel grinned as Marcus’ breathing changed, reaching that breathy pitch he made when excited. “Pon los granos de maíz en la olla mas grande que tengas, considera que pondrás el maíz y el pollo junto,” Gabriel said in a heavy voice. “You’re so good very delicious tonight.”

Marcus writhed, and Jack gripped his thigh to keep him from falling out of Gabriel’s lap, and tenderly started to lick Marcus’ head,

“You have such a pretty voice, my joya. Si no tienes una olla grande, entonces puedes usar dos dividiendo las cantidades de maíz y pollo a la mitad.” He continued to stroke Marcus’ chest and arm, and Jack slid two slick fingers inside.

Marcus jumped and almost slammed his head into Gabriel’s chin, but Gabriel leaned back.

“I’m just, and you, and we,” Marcus stuttered as Jack spread his fingers. “Not and that of the is the, is the!” He voice ended in a soft note and he pressed himself deeper into Gabriel’s chest.

“Stay with us, Marcus, stay with us.” Gabriel laughed as he ran his hands over Marcus’ chest and stomach. He steered clear of his neck. “Limpia el pollo, córtalo en unas cuatro piezas y agrégalo a la olla con el maíz, toma las dos cabezas de ajo completas, límpialas y échalas a la olla, finalmente pon agua en la olla hasta que cubra todo. Sing for me, mi joya, sing for me.”

Jack adjusted Marcus’ leg and took more of him in his mouth, and Marcus gave a full body shudder with a moan. 

“You’re doing fine, Marcus, you’re so very good. Cuando suelte el hervor baja la temperatura a fuego medio y deja cocinar por 45-55 minutos o hasta que el pollo esté cocido.”

Jack raised his eyes and looked at Gabriel, and pulled off of Marcus’ throbbing cock. 

Marcus gave a soft whine and settled into Gabriel’s lap. He took several gulps of air and opened his eyes. “Are we done?” he asked in confusion, and kissed Gabriel deeply when Gabriel tilted his head. He loved Gabriel’s hands all over his face and chest and clutched one back to his breast.

“Got to simmer for forty, fifty minutes, Angel Eyes,” Jack said and stared Gabriel in the eyes.

“I can’t last that long. Don’t make me last that long!” Marcus begged, and Gabriel hissed praise into his ears.

“We have to add the maiz, Jack,” Gabriel said with a lecherous grin. “Come on, my joya, let’s take you for a ride.” It was easy for Gabriel to nudge Marcus forward, and Jack handed him a condom.

“Please, please, please, I’m ready,” Marcus begged and wriggled. 

“Patience, Angel Eyes, patience!” Jack laughed, and rubbed his thighs. “You’re just like a puppy.”

Marcus gripped Jack’s cheeks and carefully turned his face up, emeralds meeting the summer sky. “I am not a puppy. Do not call me a puppy.”

Jack wanted to laugh at how serious Marcus had become, how firm his voice was. “I’m sorry, I won’t do that again.” He wanted to kiss Marcus stupid, make him smile again. 

“Thank you.” Marcus leaned forward and kissed him gently, but the kiss slowly grew in intensity. 

Jack worked a kiss down his neck and Marcus melted. Jack propped him up by his shoulders, and Gabriel shifted, sitting up and drawing his hands along Marcus’ waist.

“Come here, mi joya.”

“I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready!” Marcus chanted as he and Gabriel worked together, getting their legs in position and tilting Marcus’ hips. 

“Slow and easy,” Gabriel said and lowered Marcus onto his cock. “There you go, there you go, saca el pollo del caldo y déjalo enfriar.” Gabriel grinned as Jack rolled his eyes. He forgot how much Spanish Jack had picked up since they met.

Jack ran his hands up and down Marcus’ cock as Gabriel started to rock. After the pair found their rhythm, Jack applied his tongue again.

Marcus buckled and groaned against Jack’s warm mouth, and Gabriel continued to stroke his chest in time to his thrusts. 

“Mientras tanto prepara la salsa. Necesitarás dividir las cantidades en dos partes y molerlas separadamente ya que la cantidad es muy grande, muy grande, muy grande.” Gabriel nibbled on Marcuss neck and grinned at his moan. “You can sing after all, Esmeraldo. Muele en la licuadora hasta que todo se integre bien. Bien, bien!”

“That’s good? I’m good?” Marcus writhed and Jack adjusted his legs again; he wasn’t sitting still tonight! He gave a satisfied noise as Gabriel slid in deeper.

“The best, you’re the best,” Gabriel assured him and worked his arms under Marcus’ arms, holding his test snugly and massaging his breasts.

Marcus hadn’t noticed Jack had switched to using just his hand. He started to buck, twitching and groaning, and Gabriel gave a few quick thrusts. Marcus stiffened and shuddered, vision going white, and he leaned back against Gabriel, spent.

“You did so good, Marcus,” Gabriel hissed and cradled him. “You’re so hot, so tender.”

Marcus rolled over and lazily started kissing Gabriel.

“Sometimes I think you’re not as satisfied as I think you are,” Gabriel mused and rubbed Marcus’ head behind his ear. 

As usual, Marcus responded positively, almost purring. “But I feel good,” he said softly.

“Well, let Gabe and I have some fun and we’ll see if you’re up to another round in a few minutes.”

Marcus nodded at Jack, but made no move to leave Gabriel’s chest and lap.

“C’mon, Angel Eyes, up,’ Gabriel laughed, and Marcus sulked as they moved him, gently, off to the side. “Cuatro dientes de ajo pelados, media cebolla, las dos libras de tomatillos, pelados y enjuagados, chiles serranos cilantro, pepitas, sal y el agua.”

Marcus gave another stuttering hiss and rolled his shoulders, and Gabriel grinned.

By the time Gabriel and Jack had their fun, Marcus was already asleep, face peaceful and body relaxed.

  
  


“Gentlemen,” Commander Finn said and looked up at the SEP in front of her. They had been called, first thing in the morning, to her office. Gabriel, Jack, Marcus, Pichelli and three others stood at attention.

“You have assignments. Your treatments are deemed stable and and results satisfactory, so we’re sending you out in the field.” She handed each one a folder, and Marcus opened his.

“Ma’am?” he asked, “why am I in an administrative position?”

“Your extended eyesight is an asset, to be used in identifying and recording omnic communications,” she explained patiently.

“Wouldn’t that be a waste of my skills? I’ve been trained as a field agent. To be in the field.”

“Which is where the communications are.” She smirked slightly at Marcus’ blush and tapped a paragraph on his page. “While the rest of you move out in the morning, D’Angelo and Pichelli are needed on the next transport out. Your gear is waiting for you at the quartermaster, you have ten minutes to say your goodbyes. I’m sorry for the short-”

She paused as Marcus turned, gripped Jack by the shoulders, hopped up, and wrapped his legs around his waist. Jack kissed him back deeply, and put him down, and Marcus pushed passed Pichelli.

Gabriel dipped him deeply and kissed him, then stood him up.

“I’m grabbing my rosary, I’ll be back in a moment.” 

“Well, now,” Commander Finn said. “A little excitable, isn’t he?”

Marcus bolted down the halls and slid into his. “Hey, Carlton, I’m done, I’m out, they need me in the field. Magic eyes.” He looked up and spotted him trying to cover Georgia Marsh, 15, with a blanket. “Hey, Georgia, sorry, but I only have a few minutes.”

“You’re out?” Carlton asked as Marcus grabbed his Bible from his trunk.

“Here, hand out my stuff, would you? The condiments? Make sure Gabe gets some hot sauce, you know what he likes.” He shoved his wooden rosary into his pocket, along with the plastic one he was given six months ago. “Georgia, you can have a handful, didn’t mean to interrupt, oh, grab some for Vera, OK? I gotta go!” He bolted down to the media room and poked his head in, but didn’t see Musaaid or Crissy. 

Marcus skid into the quartermaster’s right as Pichelli was tying his boots.

“That was fast.”

“I’m fast,” Marcus said quickly and put his Bible and rosaries on the bench. He quickly stripped down and pulled his gear on, packed his wooden rosary in his breast pocket and his plastic one in a coat pocket, and shoved his Bible in his duffel bag. He suddenly paused and looked out the door.

“I know, Tappeto. C’mon, we need to get to da choppa.” Pichelli clapped his shoulder and they jogged down the hall. “Got your stuff?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Only brought a few photos in, got’em with me.” Pichelli tugged at his jacket pocket. “Thought this might happen. So, I’m your six.”

“Sweet. Bodyguard.” Marcus took a deep breath as they approached the hover carrier. “So, this is real.”

Pichelli gave Marcus a nudge when he balked a little. “It’s OK. I gotcha, buddy.” They slung their duffles under their seats and buckled up. “Hard to believe we didn’t used to like each other.”

“Well, snowy shootouts and taking down giant 130s is a good bonding experience,” Marcus mused.

“Speaking of,” a voice chimed in from the seats ahead of them, and Post turned and waved. “Took me down good until I squished you.” The man was still as tall as the pair remembered him, and without his mask on they could see his brown face.

“Hey, 135, good to see you! Your crazy boss here?” Marcus asked and Pichelli nudged him in the ribs.

“Deb, well, she got her injections adjusted and isn’t so blood crazy any more. Her entire decade was a little, well, off.” Post waggled his hand. “By the way, Pratt and Rogers were so mad you tranqed them!”

“Yeah,” a Black woman next to Post added, “Rogers wouldn’t shut up about it. ‘My suit, my camo suit!’” she mocked. “Then we learned base 01 had a magic sniper with magic eyes.”

“Angel Eyes,” Marcus corrected. “I’m Catholic.”

“No kidding?” she said and leaned over Post. “Man, it’s true, your eyes glow!”

“Yeah, that happens,” Pichelli said and shrugged as if it were no big deal. “You should see him in the dark.”

Post picked the woman up by her shoulders and removed her from his lap. “Are you two going to talk Catholic stuff the entire ride?”

“Naw, I’m lapsed. You?” she asked Marcus.

“Hard to say,” he answered. “Are we getting any 300s?”

Post tilted his head. “We picked up some gear, but no guys. I don’t think there’s a team 04, though.”

A light flashed over the door as a chime sounded, and Post’s companion quickly got up. She walked over and sat down in the seats by Pichelli and Marcus, and Post followed. “Hi, Wendy Mann, 228.”

Everyone introduced themselves as the carrier gave a soft shudder as it lifted, then they felt nothing as if left and glided along.

“What are you in for? Post and I are tracking.”

“Hey, who on your team spoke Yiddish and Arabic?” Marcus asked quickly.

“Deb speaks Arabic, Pratt’s Jewish, and kinda speaks Yiddish. Why? Was it in the books?” Wendy asked. “I speak Spanish, so I was able to read the book, and Deb knows computers, so she could read the binary.”

“Huh, Gabriel speaks Spanish, and we have Musaaid, so either book would have worked, I suppose,” Pichelli mused. “Well, Angel Eyes here has the angelic eyes, and I’m his guard. He gets a little focused sometimes.”

  
  


Marcus wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he woke up when Pichelli shook his arm.

“C’mon, Tappeto, we’re here. Wherever here is.”

The four SEPs grabbed their gear and left the transport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabe's sexy, sexy Spanish is from here.
> 
> https://www.mamalatinatips.com/2012/09/receta-de-pozole-verde-de-pollo.html


	11. The New Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus' first day at his new job goes well.

Marcus was bored.

He lounged in the back of the transport, doodling in a sketchbook, sitting between his security detail. 

Staff Sergeant Romeo Pichelli was on his right, shotgun at the ready. He was peering through the slots in the transport, watching the road. Occasionally his hand would tap his tonfa, ever ready at his side. He was the team leader, now, and Marcus' main bodyguard.

Sergeant Benji Post sat on his other side, holding a small cannon. He was watching the other side of the road, occasionally sniffing. His name was Benji. Not Benjamin. Benji. Post was to be their muscle, their cover and their shield. At nearly seven feet tall there was no doubt he could do the job. His skin was a warm brown, and he wore his hair in a short mohawk and a tidy beard framed his mouth. 

Sergeant Wendy Mann sat in the driver seat, checking something on the map. She was a muscular Black woman with cool, dark skin, built like an Amazon, just over six feet and with a firm, yet cheerful, face. Her cheekbones rivaled Pichelli's in sharpness. A large rifle was stowed near her, ready for action. Between checking cameras she kept tugging at one of her cornrows, and had accidentally pulled some of it loose. This led her to tug more, pulling more loose, in and endless cycle. She was their mechanic, equipment manager, and details person.

The three were at assigned as his protection detail, the ‘tracking’ job being a ruse in case their real assignment was discovered.

Another researcher sat across from him, Captain Jeanie Capri. So far she was boring. She kept taking his notebooks, sometimes in the middle of drawing, and she kept pulling rank. Captain Capri was trying to decipher the omnic writing, and she needed Marcus' eyes to do that.

Marcus sighed a little and added some shading to Pichelli’s profile. “I thought we were doing stuff,” he muttered, and Pichelli hissed briefly at him. “You know, running, jumping, climbing trees, putting on makeup when we’re up there.” His hissed back at Pichelli when Pichelli hissed at him again. “Eddie Izzard is there. We swap eyeliner.”

They hissed at each other again, and Post hissed back, a damper, longer sound. 

Marcus felt very small between the two of them. 

Pichelli was almost six and a half feet, and Post was almost a head taller and twice as wide. Post narrowed his eyes and made a soft sound. “Movement. About eighty feet out.”

“Checking the camera.” Mann brought up a datapad and examined it.

“I could just look outside, you know,” Marcus said and leaned forward.

Pichelli gripped the collar of his long coat. “Keep your ass in your seat, D’Angelo. You ain’t a kid.”

Marcus hissed at him, and when Pichelli didn’t hiss back, Marcus realized he was serious.

“Looks like something’s caught in the fence. News paper? Keep an eye on it, Post.” Mann returned to the other cameras.

"Keepin' an eye on it, got it." Post fingered his rifle, watching the paper on the fence.

Marcus sighed and swapped colors on his pen.

“Is that your official equipment, Sargent?” Capri asked as she checked the mirror. “You’re not wasting supplies?”

Marcus still wasn’t used to the promotion, but all SEP soldiers were sergeants, now. “Four color pen, ma’am, got it from the supply officer. Not for work.” He added the scar on Pichelli’s neck and moistened his finger to slur some of the lines. “Where’d you get your scar from, Pitch? On your neck?”

The silence was killing Marcus.

Finally Pichelli shifted his weight. “Fell on a pair of cleats in high school. Didn’t take care of it since I wanted a cool scar. Now, PLEASE, Tappeto, sit quietly!” he grumbled.

“As one of five people in North America with your vision, you should be taking this more seriously!” Captain Capri snapped.

“As one of five people in North America who can do my job, I should at least get one decent plate of polenta,” Marcus grumbled back.

“Will you stop about the polenta?” Pichelle groaned. “Once we get someplace that has polenta, I’ll make sure you get your polenta.”

“We’ll just get some grits,” Post said in a wandering voice from his window. “Pretend.”

Up in the front seat something beeped, and Mann nodded. “OK, showtime, people.” She brought the buggy to life and they started to roll.

“We need to have a discussion about discipline, Sargent D’Angelo,” Captain Capri snapped.

“Behave,” Pichelli hissed at Marcus, and Marcus nodded.

It was showtime.

Marcus’ eyes flicked over the markings, pen moving over the page. 

They were lying prone on a roof, and bastion units moved in the street below them.

It disturbed Captain Capri how quickly his eyes moved, fluttering and shaking a little, pupils constricting and dilating, and somehow glowing a little behind his biotic scleral lenses. 

“Tre per tre, facile, facile, nove fotogrammi, bassa velocità,” he muttered as he wrote, and Captain Capri poked his shoulder.

“In English!” she hissed, and he ignored her. 

It was easier for him to focus and not think in English while sketching.

“I need to read your notes!” she nagged and tapped his shoulder.

“Do you mind?” Marcus snapped back. “This isn’t easy!” He continued to sketch, scowling now. Marcus took a few moments to center himself, exhale, and continue.

“Write in English!” Captain Capri snapped again.

Marcus closed his eyes and focused.

“What are you doing?” Captain Capri snapped. “Don’t stop!”

“Ma’am,” Marcus said in a carefully calm tone, “this is an exceptionally painful process. This light is painful to both my brain and my eyes. Please, ma’am, let me get this drawn, then I will go over everything in English.”

Captain Capri narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, then nodded.

“Thank you.” Marcus continued to draw, and after a few more sketches, nodded. “OK, these things break down into grids, this one is three by three. It’s an easy pattern. There are nine frames, and it moves slow.” He carefully tapped out a pattern, and tapped the pages in order.

Captain Capri watched the lights, then shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

Marcus shrugged, and he didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t see the lights he could, and that irritated her.

“What do you mean, frames?” she demanded.

“Like, you know, there are nine different frames. Like animation,” he tried to explain.

Mann interrupted them. “Patrol.”

They lay quietly, and Marcus watched the graffiti.

“Keep your head down,” Pichelli snapped, and Marcus waved him off. “Tappeto, get down!”

Marcus winced and started sketching again. “It’s changed.” He examined his notes as the pattern cycled, and set another page over the first. He continued to sketch, and he checked his notes. “Only three panels changed.”

“Just three?” Captain Capri asked.

Once he was certain the pattern was repeating, Marcus slid back down. He shuttered his goggles, blocking out most of the light, and slid back to cover.

“Three by three grid, nine frames over twenty seven seconds,” Pichelli read. “Why three?”

‘Well, they use tetrary, zero, one and two,” Captain Capri noted as she examined the pages. “What do the colors mean, D’Angelo?”

“Red is red, blue is blue, yellow, yellow, you know, they are their colors. But white is black because I don’t have white ink, ma’am.” Marcus started meditative breathing again, trying to control his headache.

“What was the flash?” she asked, and mused over the lines drawn. “We’ll wait for a few more flashes, to see what pattern emerges.”

“I, the flash happened too fast. But the numbers changed.”

“Numbers?” Captain Capri demanded.

“Symbols, sorry, I’ve been thinking of some of them as numbers to make it faster and easier,” Marcus explained. “You’ll see there are sets, right? It’s faster to write red five, blue two, you know. Ma’am.” Marcus rubbed his temples.

“The primary colors are the most numerous,” she mused, noting how much green, blue, and red Marcus was using, and Pichelli made a hand gesture. “Patrol! Let’s see if he changes it again!”

Marcus prepared to take notes again. He sniffed and adjusted his goggle filter. “You know that they pull out the bramata once we’re gone. The _good_ bramata.”

“D’Angelo, we are in enemy territory,” Pichelli said quietly. “Enough about polenta.”

“Best food,” Marcus grumbled. “Movement. Under the umbrellas at the cafe with the green awning.”

“Great eyes, Tappeto,” Pichelli said quietly and scanned. “Looks like a dog.”

“What do you keep calling him?” Captain Capri asked.

“Shorty. It’s slang for shorty. Also,” Pichelli said in a warning growl. “we are in the field. A little caution, please?”

They suddenly flattened themselves as another bastion unit rolled into the plaza.

Marcus watched intently as it rolled up to the markings, examined them, and left. He had already started drawing the new pattern before the omnic had turned around. “I still can’t make out that flash that makes the pattern change. It’s too fast.”

“There has to be a pattern,” the captain mused. She couldn’t wait to get back to safety and examine the recording from Marcus’ goggles. They were the only electronic device they were allowed to use, and they were heavily shielded from detection. “We’ll wait for two more bots then move on.”

“Why hasn’t it attacked the dog?” Marcus mused. “See? The dog is still there. The omnic didn’t even do more than look at it.”

“I’ll have to check the recording when we get back,” Captain Capri said. “But that’s par for the course. Unless they get too close, they don’t attack dogs or birds or anything.”

Marcus pursed his lips, but when he shifted his weight Pichelli slammed a hand against his back. “You’re up to something,” he snapped. “Stop it.”

“Just a little test,” Marcus said with a shrug.

“No.” Pichelli kept his hand on Marcus’ back until he kept still. “Move one inch and I will sit on you.”

“Fine, fine, fine, I’ll stay here,” he grumbled.

“I mean it, Tappeto.” Pichelli didn’t move his hand for a while. “What were you going to do, anyways?”

“Pretend to be a dog and see if the omnic wouldn’t attack me,” Marcus admitted, and Pichelli’s hand pressed harder. “Hey, c’mon, Pitch, I’m not going to do it!”

Pichelli pressed a little harder. “Incoming, three, four, no, three humanoids.”

They watched as the omnics scanned the wall, and Marcus grunted.

“Oh, adverbs!” he hissed. “Each time they, they have to be scanning it with that flash of light! But they all read it and, hey, do you think they’re writing on a wall? Like Friendspace? Marking the page as read? Cheee-eck!” he quipped in the chiming tone the app made when a note was read on a friend’s page. He quickly returned to sketching, trying to recreate the wriggling shapes.

“We know it’s a form of communication, and this might help clue us in on their language.” She tugged a note free and gestured to it. “Only parts of it change. I think these, here, are numbers.”

“That was more than two, I want to get you two out of here,” Pichelli said. “Are we done?”

“Not yet.” Marcus quickly sketched the patterns, trying desperately to record the patterns before they faded.

“Yeah, we can be done,” Captain Capri said. “Let’s go home.”

  


“How ya doin’, Angel Eyes?” Post asked from across the seat. “You look beat, yeah?”

Marcus had drawn out one more pattern changes before Pichelli pulled them back. “My head is killing me. Remember that training mission we had? When you squished me?” Marcus asked.

“Yeah!” Post said with a laugh. “Harvey said she would have said you won, you know, with that knife toss. Had she been thinking clearly, ya know.”

“Glad she’s feeling better. But that was was dim compared to these. The wall, I mean.” Marcus had completely blacked his goggles out the moment his butt hit the bench seat of the buggy. “I think need my lenses adjusted.”

“I’ll let the medical team know,” Captain Capri said as she examined the notes. In the end she had asked Marcus to just write the colored numbers, since it made just as much sense as the symbols. “There’s math here, there’s something going on. D’Angelo?”

Marcus had fallen asleep, head on Pichelli’s shoulder.

  


Home was a large patchwork camp of military researchers and guards. They rolled into base in the buggy, handed the keys to a mechanic, and while Mann took their gear, the others made way to the research building. Most of the buildings were quickly constructed and somewhat drafty in the Colorado spring, but still provided cover.

Marcus loved the pine branches stacked over the structures, hiding the tents and buildings from omnic drones. He had taken to trying to sketch the perfect Pacific Yew tree, the one whos branches kept him from being smothered by snow.

Marcus and Captain Capri entered the crowded trailer to file their reports, and Post and Pichelli waited outside. It was brisk out and he tugged the collar of his jacket a little higher. He wished he had a long coat like Marcus did, but Marcus was cold, even in that. Maybe he could find him a fake fur lining or something on their next patrol, anything to keep the little guy warm.

“Hey, Pitch, Angel Eyes inside?” Natalie Fine from the medical staff asked. “I need to have him sign some papers.”

“He and Capri are inside, giving a report,” Post said.

Natalie nodded and walked off with a wave. “I’ll catch him after dinner, then. See you in the mess tent!”

Pichelli waved her off and pulled a small toy from his pocket. He had crafted the ball and cup toy once he realized electronics couldn’t be used to while the time away. He had borrowed some glue to fasten a dowel rod to the bottom of a yogurt cup, and a string on the inside was tied to a small lump of fired wiring.

He was busy catching his makeshift ball in his makeshift cup when James Mann, SEP 213, no relation to Wendy Mann, walked up and slapped it from his hands. “Here,” Mann said before Pichelli could protest, and he shoved a toy in his hands, still sealed in the plastic clam shell. “Found one on recon.”

“Thanks, Mann!” Pichelli said with honest gratitude as he ripped the kendama open. “I appreciate it!”

“Got tired of seeing you with that piece of crap.” Mann turned and walked away, and turned back. “Clean up that mess, soldier.”

Pichelli laughed as he shoved the old toy in his pocket, and started to play with the new one. He was working on two in a row when Marcus skipped down the steps. “You tell them your dog idea?” he asked and caught the ball. He tucked it into his pocket and picked up his bag.

“I am forbidden from trying my dog idea,” Marcus sighed. “Where’d you get that? Is that wood?”

“James Mann,” he said as he tucked it away.

“Oh, Wendy’s cousin?” Post asked.

“No relation,” Pichelli said. The joke was stupid and old, but they all still laughed. “How was debriefing?”

“The usual,” Marcus said with a shrug. “Hand over my notes, share some observations, get dismissed to the medical building. On my way there, now.”

Pichelli and Post, of course, shadowed him. People on base were curious about them, but gave them a wide berth; Marcus was obviously important, since both men guarding him had their weapons out.

“Hey, after this, you guys wanna hit the canteen?” Marcus offered as he bumped into Pichelli again. He didn’t care for it, but he wanted Pichelli and Post to have a nice break from time to time. It was so oddly lighted, and noisy.

“Marcus, open your goggles or something,” he sighed. “You’re going to trip over a seaman again.”

“I’ll have you know he was a petty officer third class, thank you very much,” Marcus said with an air of authority. “I can see so long as no one moves too quickly. Or gets right in front of me.”

Pichelli shook his head.

Marcus stumbled as he turned to Pichelli’s general direction. “Weren’t you a petty officer?”

“Sidewalk’s for normal walking, not fancy walking!” he snapped as he straightened Marcus out. “Yeah, first class.” He took Marcus’ shoulder and stopped him. “We’re here.”

“Yay.” Marcus’ dry delivery made Post snort a laugh. “Let’s get this over with. I really can’t stand it when they mess with my lenses.”

“It’s for the best, Tappeto. Inside.” Pichelli nudged him, and Marcus stepped inside the medical building.

“Sargeant D’Angelo, I assume?” the nurse at the counter asked, and he nodded. “Your doctor is ready for you. Your security detail stays with you, I assume?”

“Yes, they’re my emotional support detail. I have PTSD you see, from all the killer robots and everything,” Marcus quipped.

Pichelli nudged him in the shoulder. “Move it, short stack.”

“So I assume you’re here for your biotic lenses?” the nurse asked.

“I assume so,” Marcus said, and Pichelli smacked his shoulder. The followed her to an examination room and went inside.

Post took up a position by the door, and Marcus sat in the examination chair.

“It always takes forever to get started,” Marcus grumbled.

“Well, we need to keep you safe and secure. Post has to run the ID of everyone who wants to see you.” Pichelli checked his notebook, and put it back. “You’re only supposed to see two doctors. Should be easy to screen.”

“I hope they don’t take them out again. The lenses.” Marcus had shuttered his goggles completely. “I think I should learn braille. So I can read while I’m resting.”

“That worries me.” Pichelli shifted his weight. “I don’t like how much it hurts.”

“Well, that’s why we’re here.” Marcus sighed and adjusted his legs. “I still don’t like them taking the lenses out.”

“The sound they make is gross,” Pichelli said with a shudder.

“Oh, pineapples, you can hear it, too? Imagine feeling it as it moves under your eyelids. These things are a horror show!” Marcus held his fingers up near his eyes. “But it beats not having them.”

There was a knock on the door, and Post let in a doctor, but not his nurse.

“I suppose we can continue without Nurse Draven, it should be fine,” Dr. Moore was saying in a clipped voice.

“I’m a national treasure, doc.” Marcus sat up straighter when Pichelli smacked his shoulder. “The walls are almost too bright to see, but my goggles either filter too little or too much.”

“Well, let me get a look at you.” Dr. Moore gestured for Pichelli to move, but Pichelli stood still. “I’m assuming you have to be here?”

“People assume a lot here, don’t they?” Marcus muttered.

“I’m staying.” Pichelli stood fast and Dr. Moore nodded.

“Just try not to interfere. Put this on.” Dr. Moore handed Pichelli a surgical mask, then pulled his medical goggles on and adjusted the light. “OK, let’s get a look at those angel eyes of yours, D’Angelo.” Marcus let Dr. Moore strap his head down, and Pichelli could see how much it disturbed the young man to be restrained.

Both Marcus and Pichelli winced as Dr. Moore pulled out the miniature suction device needed to remove the lenses.

“Now, I know this is unpleasant, but we’ve got to get those lenses out.”

Marcus did his best to stay still.

  


Marcus wasn’t too fond of the enlisted club, but it was a distraction. It was also one of the few actually well constructed structures on base, and therefore insulated and warm. He, Pichelli and Post entered, took a seat at the bar, and waved the bartender down.

The bartender walked up. “Hey, what’ll you have?”

“What do you have for beer?” Post said. “Got any Barley Corn?” The bartender nodded and Post grinned.

“Bourbon, please,” Pichelli said. “Maker’s Mark, if you got it.”

“And Mr. Weld there?” the barman asked.

Marcus was wearing his goggles on the darkest settings. “Something diet and caffeine free.”

“I got Old Crow and water,” the barman said as he put a glass down. “Ice?”

“Yes, please,” Marcus said, and Pichelli shook his head. “I’m not sure if Capri likes me. She keeps pointing out I was only Corporal and she’s an officer. I’m almost done with my bachelor’s, though. Was aiming for officer.”

Pichelli pushed the bottle of water against Marcus’ hand, and Marcus cracked it open.

He took a long drink then sighed. “Think it’ll happen now?”

“Dunno.”

“You ever think of making officer?” Marcus asked, and Pichelli shrugged. “Think they’ll let us go back to what we were doing? I don’t think I want to go back to the office. I don’t think I want to go to combat against humans, though. I’m weird about the humanoid ones, though. Omnics. I don’t think I like killing people. I’m trained for it and everything.”

By now Post and Pachelli were used to Marcus chattering on.

“No one likes killing people, Tappeto.” Pichelli took an appreciative sip of bourbon. 

“If they did, there’s something wrong with them,” Post added and took a drink. “And, yeah, killing the humanoid ones is weird. And what do you mean ‘only’ corporal? You’re twenty-one, yeah?”

“You never give yourself enough credit. You’re twenty one and you made corporal,” Pichelli said.

“I think I was advanced just to get me into SEP,” Marcus admitted. “But no way was I going to be a Terminal Lance.”

“You know, you’re pretty smart. We work on that self esteem issue and you’ll go pretty far,” Pichelli said.

“You work on yours, too,” Marcus ordered. “‘Oh, you guys are so much smarter than me. Oh, you ranked up so fast. Oh, you’re a much better shot than me.’ You stop that.”

Pichelli laughed and took a drink.

“Seriously, though, Pitch,” Post said, "you’re great at reading people. You see patterns. You’d have made a great private detective, ya know.” He took a drink of his water. “The movie type, not the real type.” 

“Thanks, Post, thanks, Tappeto.” They drank in silence for a while, and Pichelli knew how hard it was for Marcus to keep quiet.

“Hey, Pitch?”

Pichelli hoped Marcus didn’t see him timing him on the old clock on the wall. Five minutes. Not bad, for Marcus. “What’s up?”

“Thanks for putting up with me. And not letting me fall off the roof. And making sure I didn’t run into a bastion. And not letting that car hit me in the parking lot. And making sure I eat.”

Pichelli reached over and ruffled Marcus’ hair, then returned to his drink. 

  


“How is he?” Commander Coach asked as Post let him in the room. The commander had no problem making his aide wait outside, or showing Post as much ID as he asked for. 

Marcus was resting in the only comfortable chair in their room, eyes covered with a cooling mask.

“He’s always wiped out after an adjustment, sir,” Pichelli said quietly. He gave Marcus’ shoulder a shake. “Officer on deck.”

Marcus hauled himself up and saluted.

“As you were. Good job out there, D’Angelo.”

Marcus nodded. “Thank you, sir. I should be ready for another assignment in the morning.”

“Good, get your gear, we’re moving out. What happened in medical?” Commander Coach asked as the others started to grab their bags. “How are you?”

“They took my lenses out, sir, and examined my eyes. They’re stable, and they were able to formulate new lenses. I can insert them in the morning, but I’m not to use them until then. I need to rest them. Is Dr. Moore coming with us, sir?” Marcus asked.

“No, we’ll have a new doctor in the new location.”

Marcus sat no the edge of the chair, nervous.

“C’mon, Tappeto, I got your bag for you.” Pichelli took his elbow and helped him stand. “You doing OK?”

“I, um, I don’t really like moving when I can’t see,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you, let’s go.” Pichelli hauled on his shoulder and guided Marcus from the room. He all but tossed Marcus into the transport, then took his space by the window.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus and crew arrive at a new base, meet an old acquaintance, and Marcus gets a lot off his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to Adolphus Longestaffe for letting me toss ideas at him, and for not freaking out at how uncorrect parts of my writing is
> 
> hell, thanks to the entirety of the Scout Troop, birds and claws and ghosts and every Scout great and mighty, for letting me bounce ideas around, and for tolerating me - your wisdom and patience with me is appreciated

“Name something you really hate,” Post asked as he waved the card at Marcus.

They were sitting in the Turtle, waiting for Pichelli to finish speaking with Commander Willows.

“These games are juvenile,” Captain Capri muttered.

“It’s a team building exercise!” Post insisted. “These questions come from Mirārenjā - Norowareta Shinju, Mirror Ranger, the Cursed Pearl, a quality show.” He brandished some cards with an anime logo on the back. Their flailing was the only air circulation in the cab, and Post hoped Pichelli would return soon. Captain Capri was being rather short tempered today. “So, short stack, what’s something you really can’t stand?”

“When the Eucharist gets stuck to the roof of your mouth.” He looked at the others. “What? It’s really annoying.” Lent was soon, and he was thinking about Mass.

“What’s a you criss?” Post asked and Marcus sat up. 

Wendy Mann looked behind her, then shook her head and returned to the mission briefing. “Wait, Lent’s coming up,” she muttered.

“L’eucaristia,” Marcus said, as if that explained it. “The Body of Christ.”

“Communion wafers!” Mann offered, and Post nodded.

“What do they taste like?” he asked after a moment. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Transubstantiation.” Marcus nodded, pleased with his answer, and the fact Post didn’t know the word.

Captain Capri huffed once and continued reading her notes.

“You kids behaving?” Pichelli asked as he pulled himself into the Turtle.

“Just having an impromptu CCD lesson,” Marcus said and hauled his seat-belt on.

“What’s trans sup transportation?” Post asked.

“Transubstantiation is the belief that bread is Jesus,” Captain Capri sighed.

“Kinda sorta?” Marcus said with a shrug and a wiggle of his hand. 

“We’ve no time for that nonsense,” she snapped back.

“We’ve got about an hour to the objective, ma’am,” Mann said as she tapped her map. “Atheist much?”

“We live in a world of science and logic,” Captain Capri explained slowly.

“He’s not hurting anyone,” Post said softly. “Hell, I’m atheist, and he don’t bother me when he prays.” He paused a little. “Eh, probably atheist. I dunno. Billie’s Unified, though. Goes to a nice church. They don’t care we’re bi.”

“Bi solidarity!” Wendy Mann said and slapped the roof twice.

“Hell, yeah, solidarity!” Post grinned and slapped the roof twice as well. “You with us, shorty?”

Marcus reached up and slapped the roof twice, and Wendy Mann and Post grinned.

“And you, Pitch?” Wendy Mann asked.

“I’m not gay, or bi, or anything,” Pitch said.

“Do you support your local bisexuals and gay guy?” Post asked, and Pitch nodded. “Slap the roof, Pichelli.”

Pichelli slapped the roof, but only once. “I’m straight, so, I only get one hit.”

“I can dig it!” Wendy Mann laughed. “We good to go, boss man?”

“You got the map?” he asked. “Then we’re good to go. Showtime!”

  
  


Captain Capri did not engage in the Team Building Question Card Exercise, as Post insisted on calling it. Instead she spent the first twenty minutes of the ride scowling and checking her notes.

She didn’t laugh when Pichelli admitted he didn’t like Italian food, she didn’t gasp when Wendy Mann admitted she had never seen any anime, nor did she marvel at learning Post spoke Japanese. She ignored the brief Italian lesson Marcus ran them through, since he was teaching Pichelli, and she hummed when he tried to explain transubstantiation accurately.

After that they fell into watchful silence as they left the safe zone and rolled onto what was once a freeway.

After ten minutes Pichelli braced himself for Marcus’ chatter, but nothing happened.

He turned to his charge, confused and a little concerned.

“You OK there, Tappetto?” he asked and nudged Marcus with his elbow.

“Just thinking. Lent’s soon. I haven’t been to Mass in years. I haven’t been to confession in longer.” He had been working with some para-cord, knotting and twisting it into a rosary.

“Well, you haven’t really had the opportunity.” Pichelli continued to watch the datapad. “When did you go last?”

Marcus was quiet as his finished his next knot, then he looked up. “When my parents kicked me out.” His voice was quiet.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Post said as he scanned the horizon. “You can come live with my parents, yeah? The won’t kick you out. When I said I was bi, they were very accepting.” 

“I’m twenty-one, I don’t need adopting,” Marcus sighed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Post said with a shrug. “Momo and Dad would still take you in.”

“Momo?” Wendy Man asked.

“My stepmom, actually. My mom, hang on.” He checked his datapad and nodded. “OK, it’s fine. But she walked out on dad and I, and Momo stepped in, see? Life is so much better now.”

“Do we have time for personal revelations?” Captain Capri asked as she checked the satellite feed.

“You’re so mean,” Marcus muttered as he finished another knot.

“I am not!” she snapped back.

“You kinda are, ma’am” Wendy Mann said as she checked the radio. “You’re mean to Marcus a lot.”

“He is unprofessional, immature, and mentally unfit to be in the field.” Captain Capri glared at Marcus.

Marcus huffed. “So mean.” He undid the last knot and made it larger.

“Tappetto’s stronger than he looks,” Pichelli said and examined his datapad again. “It’s really quiet out today. Normally we’d have seen a drone by now.”

“And must you call him that? What makes you think any of you are above protocol?” the captain said, her voice clipped and angry. “Are all you chemical boys like this?”

“Chemical boys?” Wendy Mann muttered.

“Ma’am,” Pichelli started to say, then stopped. “Marcus. Look at this for me.”

Marcus quickly leaned over and peered out the window.

“Bird, but something’s weird about it.” He focused and adjusted his goggles with a musing noise. “I can’t tell if it’s reflective or glowing,” he muttered.

Pichelli nudged Marcus back to his seat. “Mann, take cover. Power down, everyone, weapons ready.” Everyone turned off their electronics, and Pichelli poked Marcus’ goggles. “Camera, too, Tappetto. No chances.”

Wendy Mann pulled off the freeway and into an abandoned rest station two miles later. There was an old repair garage next to a gas station, a small gift shop, an information center with restrooms, and an old kiosk that once sold snacks. Large wooden fences separated the buildings, and clutter and debris gathered along the bottoms and edges, obscuring the view. It looked like they were a recent addition, possibly to help preserve the buildings from vandalism and elemental damage.

Pichelli hopped out long enough to force the garage door open, waved the Turtle inside, and leaned in the door of the Turtle. “You guys stay put, I’ll scout ahead.”

“We’re gonna be OK, yeah,” Post insisted. “I got a plan.”

“OK, what’s your plan?” Pichelli asked as he tried to look through a dust caked window.

Post suddenly hauled Marcus close, then pulled out his dog tags. He had a ring with an anime logo on them. “You got your crucifix, little guy?”

“You mean my rosary?” Marcus asked, and fingered the para-cord rosary in his pocket. “Yeah.”

“Pull it out. C’mon, do it, yeah?” Post gave Marcus a gentle squeeze and Marcus pulled out the rosary, or pa-rosary, as he was calling it in his head. “We’ll be fine, Pitch. We have the power of God AND anime on our side!”

Pichelli sighed. He put his hand on his temple, shook his head, and sighed again. Pichelli then drew his hands down his face. “I’m going to poke around. You yahoos stay here. Post, if Tappetto tries to leave, squish him,” Pichelli ordered. “Mann, feel free to shoot Post if he does something like that again. I’ll be back.”

“What about me?” Captain Capri asked.

“You’re not an idiot.” Pichelli easily hopped over the fence and darted into the building.

“Yes, sir.” Post said with a salute. He then made Marcus salute. “We’re just like Blackjack and Mako in Ōji Burakkujakku, futashikana uchū de no gyanburā, you know, Prince Blackjack, Gambler in an Uncertain Universe, huh, shorty?”

“Why are you like this?” Marcus asked as he tucked the rosary back in his pocket. “It’s so stuffy in here.”

“Leave and get squished, little guy. Them’s the rules.” Post leaned back, then slung a massive leg up to block the door. “And not even a little guy like you can slip through those windows.”

Marcus quickly stood up, undid the hatch on the roof, and hauled himself up.

Wendy Mann laughed and prepared to chance Marcus down.

“Huh.” Post reached up, grabbed an ankle, and yanked. “Get back in here, short stack. You’re getting squished, yeah?” He gave another haul, and dragged Marcus back into the Turtle. Before you younger man could object, Post slung a leg over and dropped his foot in Marcus’ lap. “Squish, little guy. You ain’t going nowhere!” He didn’t care he made Captain Capri jump.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s not fair!” Marcus protested and shoved, but he couldn’t get Post’s foot to move. “I want to take another look at the bird!”

“Nope.” Post made sure to pop his lips with a big grin. “You’re squished, yeah?”

“You’re heavy!” Marcus insisted, and pressed. He made no headway, and Post laughed at him.

“You were warned, little guy,” Wendy Mann grinned, then froze. “Movement. Get the hatch.”

After Captain Capri slammed the hatch shut, Wendy Mann slapped a button and the armor dropped on the Turtle. It became a half dome of overlapping armor plates, with slots only Wendy Mann could see out.

“Bastion unit,” she hissed, and everyone stiffened.

“Pitch is still out there!” Marcus hissed and shoved on Post’s foot.

Post quickly stood, faster than his bulk suggested, and hauled Marcus up by the front of his shirt. Post flipped the seat up, shoved Marcus inside, and shut it.

“Post! What the hell!” Marcus snapped. He beat on the top and Post lifted it a crack.

“Marcus,” he hissed in an angry tone, “we need you to get a foot up on the bots. So sit down and stay quiet!”

Marcus nodded, and Post shut the seat. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Post finally opened the lid. “C’mon, we’ve moving out.”

“We’re leaving the Turtle?” Marcus asked as Post all put hauled him out by his armpits.

"More birds popped up." Post handed Marcus his duffel, and held his arm out. “For now. C’mon, Pitch found a hidie-hole.” Post let Marcus and Captain Capri balance on his arm as they hopped out, and Wendy Mann followed.

Pichelli had hauled open a grate on the floor and was lowering Wendy Mann into the space below. Pichelli dropped down, and called up. “Captain?”

Post looked to Captain Capri, and she nodded. He carefully took her by the waist and handed her down, then looked to Marcus. “C’mon, short stack.” He took Marcus’ wrists and lowered him down, and once Marcus was clear, hopped down. Post boosted Marcus up, and Marcus pulled the grate shut.

“What is this?” Marcus asked as he adjusted his goggles.

“I thought it was an oil pit, but it’s not in the right place. We should be safe, here.” The pit was deep enough the omnic scanning equipment shouldn’t detect them once they were a few more feet down the tunnel. “I’ll lead, Mann, mind D’Angelo. And I swear to god, you behave!” he hissed at Marcus.

“Yes, sir.” Marcus bristled a little, but he didn’t blame Pichelli. He was pretty immature sometimes, something he knew he needed to work on.

“Post, bring up the rear. Capri, stick near Mann. D’Angelo, keep an eye out, let me know if anything weird pops up. Let’s mosey.” Pichelli started walking, and Post and Captain Capri exchanged glances and rolled eyes.

As they walked down the tunnel Marcus pulled his kit out and assembled his rifle. “Guys?” he said softly, and everyone froze. “Light, end of the hall. About fifty feet away.” He made a line in the air. “Like, a door?”

Pichelli motioned for them to stay, then crept down the hall. He peered into the room, the slowly stood. They watched as he entered the room, and few a minutes, nothing happened. 

He finally emerged and waved them down the hall, holding the door open. Everyone filed in, and Pichelli tested the door. Once satisfied he could open it, he shut it and twisted a large wheel, locking it.

“What is this place?” Marcus asked as he shuttered his goggles a little more under the harsh LED lights. “Look, I know I haven’t seen a lot of movies, but I’ve seen at least eight horror movies, and I know this isn’t good.”

They were standing in what appeared to be the foyer of an apartment building, with a few plastic plants, a bookshelf, and a receiving desk. The ceiling was curved, as if they were standing in a tube, and Post had to duck or stand exactly in the center of his head would touch the ceiling. Lights hung down, and Post smacked his forehead into two of them as he walked into the next room.

“It’s a bomb shelter,” Wendy Mann said as she started to look through the other rooms. “I think we’re under enough dirt and cement the bots can’t find us here.”

“Then where are the occupants?” Post asked and ducked through another door. The foyer opened up into a long room with couches facing holoscreens, two long tables, and what looked like a kitchen area. “Not bad.”

“How many people do you think could live here?” Marcus asked as he looked around.

Post poked his head into another room and stiffened. “Pitch!”

Pichelli nodded. “I know. Tappetto, get a look in there, tell me what you see.”

“Have I mentioned I’ve seen eight horror movies exactly, so I can guess where this is going?” Marcus said as he walked to the door. “Scoot, big guy.” Marcus looked in the room and pulled back. “Everything is glowing.”

“Let me see,” Captain Capri insisted and looked inside. She pulled her camera out and started scanning. “OK, once I get the screen up, tell me if it matches what you see! You and the other observers can see far more than our lenses can.”

“We have a code name?” Marcus asked and picked up a book. “Hey, look at this.” He held the book out and gestured to a page. “It’s omnic writing! Looks like they were working on a translation.”

Captain Capri took several pictures, and Marcus blinked.

He pointed to a certain pattern. “Wait, wait, stop, this one is changing! It’s changing like when the omnics flash it!” he exclaimed and flipped through the book to an earlier page. “Look, it’s numbers! They translated the numbers!”

“We figured the numbers out,” Captain Capri insisted, “but not how the writing works! What makes it stay? How does it change?” She took the book, and flipped through it. “This is a lot of good information. A lot of theories.”

“Um, little guy?” Post called from another room. “Gonna need your angel eyes!”

Marcus’ eyes narrowed under his goggles. “I don’t like this place.”

“Well, you have seen eight horror movies,” Wendy Mann said as she gestured for him to follow. Despite being a quiet, underground location, he realized he was still under watch. "Try being Black in a horror movie."

  
He followed Post’s voice down a hall with a sofa and a holoscreen, with more plants and bookshelves. The ceiling light was swinging, evidence of Post’s presence, and Marcus entered the next room.

“That, that’s an omnic,” he said as he looked at the machine. It looked back at him, and Marcus stepped back. Its face followed him as he moved, and Marcus stepped into the hall. “Post, what the flip?” The omnic had most of its neck, which was bolted to the wall.

“What do you see?” Pichelli hissed. He held up a pair of goggles, and looked into the room.

“There,” Marcus said and looked inside, “there’s splotches everywhere. Like blood splatters.”

“Capri, we need you!” Pichelli shouted. “Look at this. Tappetto, draw it.”

While Captain Capri examined the room, Marcus quickly sketched the splatters and lines on the wall.

“This is amazing,” Captain Capri said in a hushed voice as she compared the sketch to the goggles. “They found a way to see more of the spectrum! I need to take these apart and see what’s going on inside!” Post gestured to the table, and Captain Capri quickly entered the room. She covered the omnic’s head with a towel, and it started to shake it off. Captain Capri then selected a screwdriver and handed it to Post. “Pin that thing down.”

Post easily drove two screwdrivers into the wall, and the omnic head could no longer turn.

“I need to research this. This is amazing.” She sat down and started going through the notes.


	13. Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on patrol the team needs to take cover, and they find something below.

“Name something you really hate,” Post asked as he waved the card at Marcus.

They were sitting in the Turtle, waiting for Pichelli to finish speaking with Commander Willows.

“These games are juvenile,” Captain Capri muttered.

“It’s a team building exercise!” Post insisted. “These questions come from Mirārenjā - Norowareta Shinju, Mirror Ranger, the Cursed Pearl, a quality show.” He brandished some cards with an anime logo on the back. Their flailing was the only air circulation in the cab, and Post hoped Pichelli would return soon. Captain Capri was being rather short tempered today. “So, short stack, what’s something you really can’t stand?”

“When the Eucharist gets stuck to the roof of your mouth.” He looked at the others. “What? It’s really annoying.” Lent was soon, and he was thinking about Mass.

“What’s a you criss?” Post asked and Marcus sat up. 

Wendy Mann looked behind her, then shook her head and returned to the mission briefing. “Wait, Lent’s coming up,” she muttered.

“L’eucaristia,” Marcus said, as if that explained it. “The Body of Christ.”

“Communion wafers!” Mann offered, and Post nodded.

“What do they taste like?” he asked after a moment. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Transubstantiation.” Marcus nodded, pleased with his answer, and the fact Post didn’t know the word.

Captain Capri huffed once and continued reading her notes.

“You kids behaving?” Pichelli asked as he pulled himself into the Turtle.

“Just having an impromptu CCD lesson,” Marcus said and hauled his seat-belt on.

“What’s trans sup transportation?” Post asked.

“Transubstantiation is the belief that bread is Jesus,” Captain Capri sighed.

“Kinda sorta?” Marcus said with a shrug and a wiggle of his hand. 

“We’ve no time for that nonsense,” she snapped back.

“We’ve got about an hour to the objective, ma’am” Mann said as she tapped her map. “Atheist much?”

“We live in a world of science and logic,” Captain Capri explained slowly.

“He’s not hurting anyone,” Post said softly. “Hell, I’m atheist, and he don’t bother me when he prays.” He paused a little. “Eh, probably atheist. I dunno. Billie’s Unified, though. Goes to a nice church. They don’t care we’re bi.”

“Bi solidarity!” Wendy Mann said and slapped the roof twice.

“Hell, yeah, solidarity!” Post grinned and slapped the roof twice as well. “You with us, shorty?”

Marcus reached up and slapped the roof twice, and Wendy Mann and Post grinned.

“And you, Pitch?” Wendy Mann asked.

“I’m not gay, or bi, or anything,” Pitch said.

“Do you support your local bisexuals and gay guy?” Post asked, and Pitch nodded. “Slap the roof, Pichelli.”

Pichelli slapped the roof, but only once. “I’m straight, so, I only get one hit.”

“I can dig it!” Wendy Mann laughed. “We good to go, boss man?”

“You got the map?” he asked. “Then we’re good to go. Showtime!”

  
  
  


Captain Capri did not engage in the Team Building Question Card Exercise, as Post insisted on calling it. Instead she spent the first twenty minutes of the ride scowling and checking her notes. 

She didn’t laugh when Pichelli admitted he didn’t like Italian food, she didn’t gasp when Wendy Mann admitted she had never seen any anime, nor did she marvel at learning Post spoke Japanese. She ignored the brief Italian lesson Marcus ran them through, since he was teaching Pichelli, and she hummed when he tried to explain transubstantiation accurately.

After that they fell into watchful silence as they left the safe zone and rolled onto what was once a freeway.

After ten minutes Pichelli braced himself for Marcus’ chatter, but nothing happened.

He turned to his charge, confused and a little concerned.

“You OK there, Tappetto?” he asked and nudged Marcus with his elbow.

“Just thinking. Lent’s soon. I haven’t been to Mass in years. I haven’t been to confession in longer.” He had been working with some para-cord, knotting and twisting it into a rosary.

“Well, you haven’t really had the opportunity.” Pichelli continued to watch the datapad. “When did you go last?”

Marcus was quiet as his finished his next knot, then he looked up. “When my parents kicked me out.” His voice was quiet.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Post said as he scanned the horizon. “You can come live with my parents. The won’t kick you out. When I said I was bi, they were very accepting.” 

“I’m twenty-one, I don’t need adopting,” Marcus sighed. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Post said with a shrug. “Max and Dad would still take you in.”

“Max?” Wendy Man asked.

“My stepmom, actually. My mom, hang on.” He checked his datapad and nodded. “OK, it’s fine. But she walked out on dad and I, and Max stepped in. Life is so much better now.”

“Do we have time for personal revelations?” Captain Capri asked as she checked the satellite feed.

“You’re so mean,” Marcus muttered as he finished another knot.

“I am not!” she snapped back.

“You kinda are, ma’am” Wendy Mann said as she checked the radio. “You’re mean to Marcus a lot.”

“He is unprofessional, immature, and mentally unfit to be in the field.” Captain Capri glared at Marcus.

Marcus huffed. “So mean.” He undid the last knot and made it larger.

“Tappetto’s stronger than he looks,” Pichelli said and examined his datapad again. “It’s really quiet out today. Normally we’d have seen a drone by now.”

“And must you call him that? What makes you think any of you are above protocol?” the captain said, her voice clipped and angry. “Are all you chemical boys like this?”

“Chemical boys?” Wendy Mann muttered.

“Ma’am,” Pichelli started to say, then stopped. “Marcus. Look at this for me.”

Marcus quickly leaned over and peered out the window.

“Bird, but something’s weird about it.” He focused and adjusted his goggles with a musing noise. “I can’t tell if it’s reflective or glowing,” he muttered.

Pichelli nudged Marcus back to his seat. “Mann, take cover. Power down, everyone, weapons ready.” Everyone turned off their electronics, and Pichelli poked Marcus’ goggles. “Camera, too, Tappetto. No chances.”

Wendy Mann pulled off the freeway and into an abandoned rest station two miles later. There was an old repair garage next to a gas station, a small gift shop, an information center with restrooms, and an old kiosk that once sold snacks. Large wooden fences separated the buildings, and clutter and debris gathered along the bottoms and edges, obscuring the view. It looked like they were a recent addition, possibly to help preserve the buildings from vandalism and elemental damage.

Pichelli hopped out long enough to force the garage door open, waved the Turtle inside, and leaned in the door of the Turtle. “You guys stay put, I’ll scout ahead.”

“We’re gonna be OK, yeah,” Post insisted. “I got a plan.”

“OK, what’s your plan?” Pichelli asked as he tried to look through a dust caked window.

Post suddenly hauled Marcus close, then pulled out his dog tags. He had a ring with an anime logo on them. “You got your crucifix, little guy?”

“You mean my rosary?” Marcus asked, and fingered the para-cord rosary in his pocket. “Yeah.”

“Pull it out. C’mon, do it, yeah?” Post gave Marcus a gentle squeeze and Marcus pulled out the rosary, or pa-rosary, as he was calling it in his head. “We’ll be fine, Pitch. We have the power of God AND anime on our side!”

Pichelli sighed. He put his hand on his temple, shook his head, and sighed again. Pichelli then drew his hands down his face. “I’m going to poke around. You yahoos stay here. Post, if Tappetto tries to leave, squish him,” Pichelli ordered. “Mann, feel free to shoot Post if he does something like that again. I’ll be back.”

“What about me?” Captain Capri asked.

“You’re not an idiot.” Pichelli easily hopped over the fence and darted into the building.

“Yes, sir.” Post said with a salute. He then made Marcus salute. “We’re just like Blackjack and Mako in Ōji Burakkujakku, futashikana uchū de no gyanburā, you know, Prince Blackjack, Gambler in an Uncertain Universe, huh, shorty?”

“Why are you like this?” Marcus asked as he tucked the rosary back in his pocket. “IT’s so stuffy in here.”

“Leave and get squished, little guy. Them’s the rules.” Post leaned back, then slung a massive leg up to block the door. “And not even a little guy like you can slip through those windows.”

Marcus quickly stood up, undid the hatch on the roof, and hauled himself up.

Wendy Mann laughed and prepared to chance Marcus down.

“Huh.” Post reached up, grabbed an ankle, and yanked. “Get back in here, short stack. You’re getting squished, yeah?” He gave another haul, and dragged Marcus back into the Turtle. Before you younger man could object, Post slung a leg over and dropped his foot in Marcus’ lap. “Squish, little guy. You ain’t going nowhere!” He didn’t care he made Captain Capri jump.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s not fair!” Marcus protested and shoved, but he couldn’t get Post’s foot to move. “I want to take another look at the bird!”

“Nope.” Post made sure to pop his lips with a big grin. “You’re squished, yeah?”

“You’re heavy!” Marcus insisted, and pressed. He made no headway, and Post laughed at him.

“You were warned, little guy,” Wendy Mann grinned, then froze. “Movement. Get the hatch.” 

After Captain Capri slammed the hatch shut, Wendy Mann slapped a button and the armor dropped on the Turtle. It became a half dome of overlapping armor plates, with slots only Wendy Mann could see out.

“Bastion unit,” she hissed, and everyone stiffened.

“Pitch is still out there!” Marcus hissed and shoved on Post’s foot.

Post quickly stood, faster than his bulk suggested, and hauled Marcus up by the front of his shirt. Post flipped the seat up, shoved Marcus inside, and shut it.

“Post! What the hell!” Marcus snapped. He beat on the top and Post lifted it a crack.

“Marcus,” he hissed in an angry tone, “we need you to get a foot up on the bots. So sit down and stay quiet!”

Marcus nodded, and Post shut the seat. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Post finally opened the lid. “C’mon, we’ve moving out.”

“We’re leaving the Turtle?” Marcus asked as Post all put hauled him out by his armpits. 

"More birds popped up." Post handed Marcus his duffel, and held his arm out. “For now. C’mon, Pitch found a hidie-hole.” Post let Marcus and Captain Capri balance on his arm as they hopped out, and Wendy Mann followed.

Pichelli had hauled open a grate on the floor and was lowering Wendy Mann into the space below. Pichelli dropped down, and called up. “Captain?” 

Post looked to Captain Capri, and she nodded. He carefully took her by the waist and handed her down, then looked to Marcus. “C’mon, shot stack.” He took Marcus’ wrists and lowered him down, and once Marcus was clear, hopped down. Post boosted Marcus us, and Marcus pulled the grate shut. 

“What is this?” Marcus asked as he adjusted his goggles.

“I thought it was an oil pit, but it’s not in the right place. We should be safe, here.” The pit was deep enough the omnic scanning equipment shouldn’t detect them once they were a few more feet down the tunnel. “I’ll lead, Mann, mind D’Angelo. And I swear to god, you behave!” he hissed at Marcus.

“Yes, sir.” Marcus bristled a little, but he didn’t blame Pichelli. He was pretty immature sometimes, something he knew he needed to work on.

“Post, bring up the rear. Capri, stick near Mann. D’Angelo, keep an eye out, let me know if anything weird pops up. Let’s mosey.” Pichelli started walking, and Post and Captain Capri exchanged glances and rolled eyes.

As they walked down the tunnel Marcus pulled his kit out and assembled his rifle. “Guys?” he said softly, and everyone froze. “Light, end of the hall. About fifty feet away.” He made a line in the air. “Like, a door?”

Pichelli motioned for them to stay, then crept down the hall. He peered into the room, the slowly stood. They watched as he entered the room, and few a minutes, nothing happened. 

He finally emerged and waved them down the hall, holding the door open. Everyone filed in, and Pichelli tested the door. Once satisfied he could open it, he shut it and twisted a large wheel, locking it.

“What is this place?” Marcus asked as he shuttered his goggles a little more under the harsh LED lights. “Look, I know I haven’t seen a lot of movies, but I’ve seen at least eight horror movies, and I know this isn’t good.”

They were standing in what appeared to be the foyer of an apartment building, with a few plastic plants, a bookshelf, and a receiving desk. The ceiling was curved, as if they were standing in a tube, and Post had to duck or stand exactly in the center of his head would touch the ceiling. Lights hung down, and Post smacked his forehead into two of them as he walked into the next room. 

“It’s a bomb shelter,” Wendy Mann said as she started to look through the other rooms. “I think we’re under enough dirt and cement the bots can’t find us here.”

“Then where are the occupants?” Post asked and ducked through another door. The foyer opened up into a long room with couches facing holoscreens, two long tables, and what looked like a kitchen area. “Not bad.”

“How many people do you think could live here?” Marcus asked as he looked around.

Post poked his head into another room and stiffened. “Pitch!”

Pichelli nodded. “I know. Tappetto, get a look in there, tell me what you see.”

“Have I mentioned I’ve seen eight horror movies exactly, so I can guess where this is going?” Marcus said as he walked to the door. “Scoot, big guy.” Marcus looked in the room and pulled back. “Everything is glowing.”

“Let me see,” Captain Capri insisted and looked inside. She pulled her camera out and started scanning. “OK, once I get the screen up, tell me if it matches what you see! You and the other observers can see far more than our lenses can.”

“We have a code name?” Marcus asked and picked up a book. “Hey, look at this.” He held the book out and gestured to a page. “It’s omnic writing! Looks like they were working on a translation.”

Captain Capri took several pictures, and Marcus blinked.

He pointed to a certain pattern. “Wait, wait, stop, this one is changing! It’s changing like when the omnics flash it!” he exclaimed and flipped through the book to an earlier page. “Look, it’s numbers! They translated the numbers!”

“We figured the numbers out,” Captain Capri insisted, “but not how the writing works! What makes it stay? How does it change?” She took the book, and flipped through it. “This is a lot of good information. A lot of theories.”

“Um, little guy?” Post called from another room. “Gonna need your angel eyes!”

Marcus’ eyes narrowed under his goggles. “I don’t like this place.”

“Well, you have seen eight horror movies,” Wendy Mann said as she gestured for him to follow. Despite being a quiet, underground location, he realized he was still under watch.

He followed Post’s voice down a hall with a sofa and a holoscreen, with more plants and bookshelves. The ceiling light was swinging, evidence of Post’s presence, and Marcus entered the next room.

“That, that’s an omnic,” he said as he looked at the machine. It looked back at him, and Marcus stepped back. Its face followed him as he moved, and Marcus stepped into the hall. “Post, what the flip?” The omnic had most of its neck, which was bolted to the wall.

“What do you see?” Pichelli hissed. He held up a pair of goggles, and looked into the room.

“There,” Marcus said and looked inside, “there’s splotches everywhere. Like blood splatters.”

“Capri, we need you!” Pichelli shouted. “Look at this. Tappetto, draw it.”

While Captain Capri examined the room, Marcus quickly sketched the splatters and lines on the wall.

“This is amazing,” Captain Capri said in a hushed voice as she compared the sketch to the goggles. “They found a way to see more of the spectrum! I need to take these apart and see what’s going on inside!” Post gestured to the table, and Captain Capri quickly entered the room. She covered the omnic’s head with a towel, and it started to shake it off. Captain Capri then selected a screwdriver and handed it to Post. “Pin that thing down.”

Post easily drove two screwdrivers into the wall, and the omnic head could no longer turn.

“I need to research this. This is amazing.” She sat down and started going through the notes.


	14. Emerging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus finally gets to shoot things.

Marcus was using a periscope, the top of which he suspected was disguised as a cactus. He was watching the bird drones move, flying in circles above the gas station. None of them tried to get in, though. They simply circled. 

As he watched them his eye twitched, trying to take in as much information as he could. He watched how they moved, which way their heads tilted when they circled, how far apart they kept. They fascinated him, and that scared him. 

He was banished from the research room for constantly sorting things. His administrative skills had instantly kicked in and he tidied the books and supplies. Captain Capri got tired of bumping elbows with him and shooed him away, only to keep calling him back every few minutes. 

On the fifth or six round back into the room to compare the goggles to his eyesight, he found himself staring at the omnic head. He didn’t know if it had eyes or sensors, but it followed him as he moved. 

“Why, why is it uncovered?” he asked in a quiet voice. The omnic had been watching Captain Capri, but once Marcus spoke it looked to him. 

“I’m taking it apart,” Captain Capri explained. “I need to study its eyes.” 

“It’s still, you know,” Marcus hissed. “It’s looking at me.” 

“Oh, wait,” she said, and rooted in the back of its head. She wrenched something and the lights dimmed, and it stopped moving. “There we go. It was just tracking movement.” 

“It is dead?” Marcus asked, and she shook her head. “That just, it’s mean. It’s still alive. Shouldn’t you deactivate it first?” 

“It’s an omnic, D’Angelo,” Captain Capri sighed. 

“It’s aware,” he argued, and she sighed again. 

“It’s a manufactured thing, D’Angelo. It doesn't have a soul.” She turned to face him. “You don't believe they have souls, do you?” 

“I don’t know,” Marcus admitted. “I’ve never had a conversation with one before.” He had never worked with omnics before, their presence having been banned in military facilities. The most he had dealt with them was as cashiers off base, and the attendance office at the public high school he had attended when his parents decided not to have him finish high school at Saint Leo’s. 

“It’s a machine, D’Angelo. There is no heart, no soul, no independent thought, just hard circuits and cold logic.” She continued to work on the goggles. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of any of this!” she hissed. “It’s so simple, we just overlooked it!” 

Marcus wandered back to the periscope and sat down at the desk Pichelli was working at. 

“How long are we going to stay here?” he asked Pichelli. 

He had taken apart and old radio to fix it. “Well, the drones are still out there, so at least until they go away.” He gestured over to the periscope, where Wendy Mann was peering outside. “I think, if I can get this fixed, we can contact the base without alerting the bots. There is a lot of good information here we need to get back.” 

The desk was scattered with all sorts of random items, and one thing Pichelli kept going back to was a coupon folder full of stickers. Stars, bananas, emoji faces and fuzzy animals were part of the collection, and whenever he moved tools and supplies, he moved the sticker folder a little closer. 

Marcus nodded walked over to one of the doors. 

Pichelli didn’t even look up. “Don’t wander off, Tappetto.” 

Marcus sat down on the couch and picked up a remote. “What do you think happened to to people here?” There was no signal for the holoscreens to pick up though, and Marcus didn’t feel like watching a screen saver, so he turned the screen off. None of the books interested him, most of them being palp from a second-hand store. Most of them with the twenty-five-cent price tag still stuck to them. There was a full collection if Bloody Love, the worst vampire story ever told, and After the Rapture, books he avoided like the plagues of Egypt. Those had been two for a quarter. 

“I don’t think more than a few people lived here, honestly.” Pichelli screwed in a panel and twisted a knob, but got no response. “There’s the workshop there, the kitchen here, and a few bedrooms, but only four beds were used. Lots of food, there’s a little garden, but it’s dead.” 

“Can I go see it?” Marcus asked, and Pichelli looked up. “I mean, what could happen? We’re underground.” 

The former SEAL thought for a moment and shook his head. “No. Gabriel once said we don’t know what type of movie we’re in, or where we are in the script. So, stay put, Tappetto. We don’t know if we’re the team that brings back the goods in the final act, or the team that gets killed in the first.” 

Marcus slouched on the sofa, and drew his coat around him. 

“You still cold, little guy?” Wendy Mann asked, and Marcus nodded. “Hey, Pitch, send Post to grab some blankets or something, yeah?” she said, obviously mimicking Post’s speech pattern. 

“Wait, why me?” Post asked and put down Pichelli’s ball and cup toy. 

“Because I’m Black, and if this is a horror movie, I don’t want to be the first one to die,” she explained patiently. 

“Hey, I’m half Black!” Post shot back. “My mom is Black.” 

“You’ll just get maimed, then,” she with a flip of her hand. 

“I have a solution that won’t get any of us killed,” Post said. He hauled his jacket off and draped it over Marcus. “See? Now the little guy won’t freeze.” 

“Post, isn’t that armored and weighs about a ninety pounds?” Wendy Mann asked, and pointed at a drowning Marcus. 

“Air!” he begged dramatically. 

Post swore and pulled it off, slinging it back on his shoulders. “I’ll just head into the bedrooms and grab some blankets, right.” 

“Don’t start a horror movie scene,” Pichelli ordered as he slid a component into place. 

“On it, boss.” Post opened the door to the bedrooms. 

The room Wendy Mann, Marcus and Pichelli were in was the main hub of the shelter. It was one long tube, and the other rooms were tubes branching off at ninety degree angles. The bedrooms branched from the hallway tube, and each held four beds and a small bathroom. Post entered the second tube, fetched some blankets, and turned to leave. 

There was a soft sound, and he paused and turned his head. As he reached for his sidearm, he took a breath. “Don’t know what type of movie we’re in,” he hissed to himself and backed down the hallway. He quickly retreated to the main room and flung the blankets on Marcus. 

“Boss, noises. Might just be a rat or something, yeah?” he said as he grabbed his shock rifle. 

Pichelli swore and stood up. “We are investigating a situation and preparing for evac.” He finished his radio call and started pointing. “Mann, mind D’Angelo and Capri. D’Angelo, you and Capri get the research ready to go, we might have to bolt. Post, let’s check it out.” Pichelli checked his sidearm and tonfa, and watched as Marcus and Wendy Mann entered the research room. 

Post shoved a bookcase in front of it, nodded, and opened the hall to the bedrooms. 

Pichelli moved slowly and carefully, listening, and Post gestured to the third door. He gestured for Post to kick it in, and the large man took a breath. 

As the door crumbled under the force of Post’s kick, they heard a shout from inside. 

“Stay back!” a voice snapped at them. 

“We’re humans! Special Forces!” Pichelli shouted as he prepared for a shoot-out. Who knew who this person was? 

“What about the omnics?” the voice demanded. “Where are there?” 

“Were there omnics inside the shelter?” Pichelli asked. 

“Yeah. Maybe. I dunno.” They were unsure. “Once, but not now?” 

Pichelli swore. “We’re leaving. Come on, mystery voice. We’re getting you out of here.” 

“OK, I suppose. Are you gonna shoot me?” the voice asked. 

“No, we’re getting out of here. Post, get the others.” Pichelli waited for the figure to appear, and checked them over. 

She was an older woman, in her fifties, wearing baggy army surplus clothes and a slouchy beanie. She protested when Pichelli pat her down, and pulled back. “You mind?” 

“We have to be sure you’re not a threat. What happened to the others here?” Pichelli asked and picked her bag up. He quickly rooted through it, despite her protests. She had nothing but a knife, which he took, some sanitation products, a few books and extra clothes. “Once this place is clear we’re gonna raid it for supplies. Stuff is in short demand now a days. Where are the others?” 

“Everyone else, Clark, Riza, Orlander, they’re dead, I guess. I was on recon, watching the tanks. When I got back, they were gone, no sign of struggle, just, empty. That was a week ago.” She followed them down the hall to the main room. “What about the birds? I think they’re drones. Are they gone?” 

“Post, get the others.” He turned to her. “I’m Staff Sergeant Pichelli. And you?” 

“Maria Grace Roseman. I, um, there was this, it’s a doomsday cult, OK? I joined up because I wanted shelter.” She walked to a closet and pulled out a walking stick and a jacket. “I’m just a welder, man, I see two pieces of metal? I make them stick together.” 

“What about the omnics?” Pichelli asked and helped her with her jacket; her left arm didn’t want to move very well. 

“The human ones came down, dragged some people out, the rest of us hid. After they left, it was just the four of us for a few weeks. I went out to look for some others, took a few days. When I got back, they were gone. I couldn’t get the shelter door shut, it’s too heavy.” She gestured to her left arm. “Then I heard you guys and just, I dunno, I panicked.” 

“It’s OK, we’ll get you to safety.” He watched, briefly, as Wendy Mann easily made a few slings from the blankets to haul the research in. “Can you tell us about that room any?” 

“There’s an omnic head in there and a LOT of conspiracy theories.” She adjusted her jacket. 

Pichelli started to make a report on the radio, and he nodded. “OK, Capri, D’Angelo, grab the research. Roseman, stay in the center of everything. We’re going to the Turtle, then waiting for an escort. Post, rear. Mann, watch the others. I’ll be on point. Let’s move.” 

Before leaving, however, he grabbed the coupon folder and shoved it in his bag. 

Pichelli darted down the hall and up to the grate, and pulled back, returning to the others. “Bastion, right outside,” he hissed quietly. “I’m gonna sit under the grate. Wait for my signal and stay ready to move.” 

The others nodded and he moved quietly back to position, and waited. 

For once Marcus was sitting still. He was holding the para-cord rosary, quietly moving the knots between his fingers. He was suddenly aware of how much taller he was that Captain Capri or Roseman, and of half the base, too. 

Captain Capri was trying to ignore him, but she kept glaring at him. Marcus turned and hid the rosary, then continued. Three aves later, Pichelli motioned for Post to move forward. 

Marcus could only hear scraps of information, but it sounded like extraction was on their way. He saw Pichelli motion to him, and he moved forward. 

“Can you hit the birds?” he hissed, and Marcus nodded. 

“Got a smart rifle,” he said and hefted his duffel. “She’s smart. An M-23.” 

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” It was obvious Pichelli did not like this plan. “You find cover and take down as many birds as you can.” 

Marcus had already assembled his rifle and stood up. “Show me my cover.” 

Pichelli nodded. He knew Marcus was a trained sniper. Marcus was SEP. But he was so young. It was almost as if childhood had frozen for him, and he had never matured after that encounter with Rick. 

But now Marcus’ face had a serious, yet calm, expression. 

Pichelli nodded. “The roof has some campy signs and stuff up there, should give you cover for a bit.” He boosted Marcus into the garage, and pointed at the corner. 

Marcus ignored the steps and hopped to a crate then the walkway, and then moved onto the roof. 

Like Pichelli had said there were several signs and old displays on the roof, and Marcus hid between a gorilla and a dinosaur. It took him a moment to adjust his goggles, and he synced them to his rifle. 

Between his enhanced vision, his goggles, and his smart rifle, aiming at things wasn’t hard. 

Aiming at moving things, however, required more skill. 

Aiming at things that were moving quickly, and without knowing how far away they were? 

That’s why Marcus trained daily in the simulators. 

He had heard tell of a sniper in Egypt who could make the shot without enhancements, but he didn’t have time to be jealous of another’s skill. They must have trained much harder than he did, and they deserved their praise. 

Marcus controlled his breathing, gave a soft exhale, and fired. 

A drone dropped, and Marcus quickly turned. 

He fired again, and again, and again. 

His face held a blank expression as he turned and fired, turned and fired, turned and fired, his scope and goggles targeting, giving him distance and speed, allowing Marcus to properly lead his target. 

He was about to make another shot when something tackled him from behind. 

“I said get back inside!” Pichelli snapped and almost dropped Marcus off the roof while turning. “Now, inside, now!” He grabbed Marcus’ armpits and lowered him inside, then hopped in after him and shut the door. “Didn’t you hear me?” he asked and took Marcus’ rifle and bag from him. 

“Kinda busy shooting!” Marcus protested, and crashed into someone. His face lit up as he recognized her under her riot armor. “Crissie!” Marcus cheered, and she gripped his armpits. 

“Angel Eyes!” she cheered back and tossed him lightly by his armpits. “In you go!” She dropped him in the space under the seat, and he instinctively held his legs out of the way and ducked his head. 

“No, not the seat again!” Marcus lamented, but the lid shut and he was shut in darkness. 

He really wished people would just stop moving him like he were a stuffed animal. 


	15. Chapter 15

Marcus did not like being locked in the safe under the seat. It was hot, it was cramped, and he could hardly hear what was going on. Every bump knocked his head around, and he finally got his arms in a comfortable position. It was stuffy and dry, and Marcus counted in his head.

He debated starting a rosary, the only real way he had of keeping time, when his head slammed into the wall again. “Hey!” he finally shouted. “How’s it going?”

“Stay put!” a muffled voice snapped, and Marcus gave a dissatisfied hum. The lid opened and Marcus sat up with a zombie-like groan. “Here, adjust yourself, grab a water, and get back in there,” Crissy snapped.

Marcus hauled his coat off, then wrapped folded sleeves for a pillow and sat in the seat. He took the water bottle Crissy gave him then lay back down, fuming in the dark once she shut the lid. He bounced around a bit more, then things became still.

Marcus was horrible at telling time. Had it been five minutes? Twenty? An hour? No, not an hour. Maybe ten minutes? He was knocking on the lid, trying to ask if he could come out, when there was a loud crack. “Guys?” he asked, but everyone was shouting. “I’d like to come out now!” he called as something shook the Turtle. “Guys?”

Everything shook and people were shouting, and Marcus banged on the lid. “Guys?” he shouted, and everything shook.

Marcus’ head suddenly banged into the side, and he lunged against the wall.

“Are we under attack? Hey, let me out!” he called out, but he only heard the sounds of weapons and loud voices. He slammed into the sides again, then was suddenly standing up. “Guys?” All he could hear was vague shouting and cracking noises.

Marcus’ head swam and he took a few deep breaths. “Guys?” Was the lid locked? He shoved, but he stopped after the metal groaned at him.

As he tried figure things out, the metal around him kept groaning. Marcus knocked on the lid, and was suddenly slammed forward.

The lid popped open and he fell towards the ceiling, which was now the floor. Why was the Turtle upside down?

Marcus suddenly panicked. It was upside down! Why was the Turtle upside down?

His duffle had to be in the other seat, and he reached up and gripped the edge of the seat. It popped open and everything inside fell out, and he caught his duffel bag and some of the research books. He quickly shoved as much as he could into his duffel, and as he was assembling his rifle someone managed to get the door open.

Wendy Mann stuck her head in, and pulled herself into the overturned vehicle. “Oh, thank god, you’re alive!” she said with a sigh of relief. “We’re taking heavy fire!”

“I noticed!” Marcus snapped. “Please don’t shove me back in there, OK?” Marcus asked, and something struck the bottom of the Turtle.

He and Wendy Mann were tossed to the side, and Marcus wrapped himself around his rifle. Once things quieted down he hauled on the ceiling hatch, and Wendy Mann boosted him out. Marcus landed on someone taking cover behind the Turtle, and he looked around him. He had to be from the extraction team.

Several humanoid omnics were trying to reach them, and a handful of drones were laying cover fire for them.

“What’s the plan?” he asked as he spotted Post using a cannon to aim at some drones.

“Ambush! We need to thin the drones out!” the stranger spotted Marcus’ rifle. “Can you shoot?” he shouted over the rattling of someone’s sub-machine gun. He turned to fire at some humanoid units.

“On it!” Marcus quickly ducked away from Wendy Mann, who tried to tackle him, and lifted his rifle.

The first drone fell, crashing into the ground a hundred feet away from them, and Marcus turned.

Find target, exhale, fire.

Find target, exhale, fire.

Find target, exhale, fire.

He continued to fire, and he was suddenly away of someone hauling on him.

“You have GOT to pay attention, Tappetto!” Pichelli snapped. “What are you doing out of the Turtle?” There were several more humanoid omnics rushing up, and Wendy Mann mowed them down with a sub-machine gun.

Marcus turned, exhaled, and fired, bringing another drone down. “You mean the small, enclosed metal box I was getting slammed around in?”

Pichelli gripped Marcus by the chest and turned, avoiding another strafing run of bullets. He watched the salvo strike the Turtle, punching through the undercarriage. “OK, that’s fair,” he muttered, and heard another whistling.

Pichelli grabbed Marcus and pulled him to cover as another missile came too close.

“What keeps DOING that?” someone asked, and Marcus twisted and elbowed himself free from Pichelli’s grasp.

He scanned the horizon and nodded, and hefted his rifle. “Don’t,” he hissed at Pichelli when he felt hands on his shoulders, and he turned and continued to search. “Bastion unit, most of a mile out. I got this.”

Marcus exhaled, adjusted himself, and fired. “Blinded it.” He scanned the unit, aimed, and fired twice more. “Missile launched down.” He then returned to picking off drones.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but things were over.

Marcus turned, goggled eyes watching the sky, rifle still ready.

Nothing moved but clouds, and he slowly lowered his weapon. “Are we done?” he asked quietly.

Pichelli regarded his friend and charge for a moment. Sometimes Marcus was so shy and young Pichelli forgot Marcus was trained in any form of combat. Pichelli remembered watching him train in hand-to-hand combat, leading Floss out of the ring and hauling him back in.

Back then he thought it was a glitch in the matrix, if anything, that childish Marcus could even fight. Now he had the feel that Marcus only shined under pressure. His musing was interrupted by Commander Gomez, however.

Commander Gomez looked from Pichelli to Marcus, and back to Pichelli. “WHY WAS HE IN A BOX?” he demanded with a sweep of his arm, gesturing to the fallen drones. “D’Angelo, how?”

Marcus pointed to his eyes. “I’ve got angel eyes,” he said simply and looked around. He adjusted his goggles and scanned the skies while the others tipped the Turtles back over.

Once one was stabilized Marcus easily hopped to the top of it and continued scanning the horizon.

“Get your ass on the ground and in the Turtle, Tappetto!” Pichelli snapped, and Marcus sighed at him. “D’Angelo.”

Marcus hopped to the ground and entered the Turtle, and disassembled his rifle.

“Pitch! How!” Gomez insisted as he followed Pichelli into the Turtle. “That was amazing!” He quickly snatched Pichelli’s datapad and examined Marcus’ numbers. “Twenty two shots, eighteen drones, roof. Twenty-eight shots, twenty drones, one tank, field! He took out a bastion tank, Pichelli!”

“I’ll explain later, but we need to move,” Pichelli said as he snagged his datapad back. “Post did good, too. Man, Mann, you did great!”

“I always do, boss!” she grinned and hauled herself into the Turtle. She and Marcus quickly started gathering the research, and Captain Capri quickly joined them.

‘D’Angelo, get in the box.” Pichelli’s voice made Marcus’ gut freeze for a moment, and, with a groaning sigh, lowered himself into the seat, adjusted his coat, and gave a thumbs up. “Thank you.” Pichelli dropped in the cookies from his rations and a water bottle and shut the lid.

“Marcus is one of five people on this planet, that we know of, who can actually see the omnic writing. Captain Capri is working on translating and visualizing it.” Pichelli sat down and buckled up.

“I want out of the box!” Marcus demanded. “As one of five people I have demands!”

“Grounded, Tappetto!” Pichelli snapped back. “So, as you can imagine, he’s a little valuable.”

“Only until I get the new visualization goggles up and running,” Captain Capri said as she cradled the bag to her chest. “Then everyone can see them. We’ve got a shot at this!”

“I want my polenta!” Marcus insisted, his voice muffled.

“Enough with the polenta!” Pichelli groaned. “When I find some polenta, I’ll get you your polenta!”

“I’m getting him some polenta,” Gomez said. “What’s polenta?”

“Italian grits. He likes it cheesy, with red sauce.” Pichelli leaned backwards with a sigh.

“No farting!” Marcus demanded below him, and Pichelli started to laugh, the stress of the day finally catching up to him.

  
  
  


Once inside the base, Pichelli let Marcus out of the safe box.

“That was horrible and we are never doing that again!” Marcus insisted as he sat up.

He then gave a shudder and vomited on Pichelli’s boots.

“That!” he spat out, head bobbing, “was for the box!”

“Ah, you’re all hot,” Pichelli hissed as he helped Marcus stand. “You just can’t regulate your body temperature anymore, can you?”

“Little busy puking.” Marcus’ arms gave out and he almost collapsed back into the seat, and Pichelli easily lifted him up.

“Wendy, let them know we’re coming and grab his kit? C’mon, Tappetto, let’s get you to the med station. Post? Need you!” Pichelli easily carried Marcus in a bridal carry to the medical center, Post right on his heels.

“Oh, there he is!” the nurse at the desk said as a passing captain held the door open for Pichelli. “Right this way, Sergeant.”

While Post carded the doctor, Pichelli entered an examination room. He carefully started to strip Marcus of his coat, and Marcus didn’t object. “Enter!” he said when someone knocked, and a doctor walked in.

“Hi, Doctor Rhoda Boim. I understand we have a concussion?” she said as Post let her in.

“He’s all hot and, as you can see, puke-y.” Pichelli suddenly wished he had washed or removed his boots. He stepped through worse, though, and knew he would get over it quickly. “Heat stroke, maybe?”

“Well, let’s get a look at him. Hello, Sergeant D’Angelo! I’m Doctor Boim!”

Marcus stared at her, mouth working a bit, and he sat up a bit straighter. He babbled something out, and Pichelli caught him as he slumped over.

“Not good, help me strip him, he’s over heated.”

The pair quickly got Marcus down to his boxers, and Doctor Boim took a quick blood sample. While they covered Marcus with a cool, damp sheet, a machine analyzed his blood.

“Now,” the doctor said as she placed a damp paper towel on Marcus’ head, “you SEP gentlemen have a lot of challenges. I see from his file that he doesn’t seem to be able to thermoregulate any more. What other symptoms does he have?”

“Well, what are you looking for?” Pichelli asked as he held a bottle to Marcus’ lips. “C’mon, Tappetto, take a sip.”

Doctor Boim made a call for fluids, removed Marcus’ lenses, then covered his eyes with a cool cloth. “Irregular heartbeat? Fatigue? Paleness? No?” She paused as the machine beeped, and she examined the results on her datapad. “Hm, oxygen levels are a little low, so’s his potassium. And blood sugar.” She examined his arms and hands and paused. “Wait, this scar, is this new?” she asked and gestured to the surgical scar on his ribs. “It’s not on his bioscan.”

“Hey, hey, Tappetto, can you focus for me? Tell me about the scar.” Pichelli pat Marcus’ cheek lightly. “Never saw it before.” He adjusted Marcus’ eye cloth and rested his goggles on it to keep it in place.

“He broke m’ribs,” Marcus muttered. “Scar came back last week.”

“Who broke your ribs?” she asked gently, and Marcus blinked. “Sergeant?”

“Fell, was drinking,” Marcus said after a moment of concentration. “Worried about lungs. Scar came back. He’s good to me, he’s good to me.” Marcus’ voice trailed off, and Pichelli gently pet his face.

“Well, I actually think you’re malnourished. How many calories are you getting?” Doctor Boim asked, and Marcus shrugged. She looked to Pichelli, then started to prepare Marcus for an IV.

“Um, he gets, I dunno, four thousand? He eats two ration packs a day.”

“He needs more. He might not be as big as you guys, but he still has an advanced metabolism and body. He gets six to to seven, we’re starting him on seven, though.”

“Wow, that’s a lot for the little guy. I take eight.”

“Pichelli, he is almost six feet tall and weighs two hundred pounds. For you guys, yes, he’s small, but for everyone else on the planet, the man’s big. He’s not finding shoes in his size at Walmart any time soon.” She pressed a button on her datapad. “Whoever put him on four-thousand calories deserves to have their medical license investigated.”

Post opened the door and handed in an IV of fluid, and Doctor Boim hung it on the IV stand.

“I’m giving him a multivitamin, too. What, if I may ask, is your relationship to him?” She pulled out an SEP IV catheter, designed to irritate a wound to keep their bodies from healing around it.

“I’m kind of his handler. Mainly supposed to be his bodyguard. He’s got the self-preservation skills of a prehistoric turkey.”

“Hey!” Marcus managed to grumble. He winced as Doctor Boim inserted the catheter.

“So, what, like a dodo?” she asked as she taped everything into place. “And by my medical standards you are. A kid. Not a dodo. Looking at your records, I’m upset they actually used you for SEP. You’re nowhere near as developed as you should be.”

“Then why take him?” Pichelli asked as he helped Marcus take another drink.

He was cooling off now and was responding better.

“He’s got the genetic markers needed. Not everyone can be SEP.” Doctor Boim made sure everything was hanging right and nodded to herself. “If he had any siblings, I’m certain they’d be after them, too.”

“Got a sister,” Marcus said quietly. “Leona.”

‘Were they that desperate for test subjects?’ Pichelli asked himself, and shook his head. “There was a thought they wanted to see how small they could go.” Pichelli adjusted Marcus’ damp blindfold a little.

Doctor Boim mused and made a few notes on her datapad. “So, we’ll up his calories, multivitamin, you need to keep yourself hydrated, I’ll need to check on you in a few days. Your bodies move fast, I want to keep an eye on the scar.” She turned to Pichelli. “Any reappearing scars on you?”

Pichelli sat down and pulled his right boot and sock off, and rolled his pants to his calf. “Nope, this one is still the same as it ever was.” He gestured to a faded scar on his calf, then to his neck. “This one’s always been a bit ugly, though. But it hasn’t changed any.”

“Good, keep an eye on them,” she said as Pichelli redressed his foot. “I’m going him tomorrow off, he needs rest.”

  
  
  


Marcus couldn’t really sleep. His head still hurt, but he had to admit, he finally felt full. “Hey, Pitch?” he asked into the room, wondering if he was the only one awake.

“Sleep time is now, Marcus,” Post muttered and rolled over, his considerable frame making the bed moan in pain under him.

“What is it?” Pichelli asked and adjusted his legs.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I ate enough that Doctor Boim told, no, that sentence isn’t right,” he said after a pause. “My head still hurts.”

“She said it would,” Pichelli said and settled his shoulders under the blanket. “You warm enough?”

Marcus was, as usual, under three blankets and his long coat. Pichelli and Post only used one.

“Yeah, just, you know. Thinking. About food.”

Pichelli sat up and hopped out of the top bunk, then took Marcus’ hand. “You’re cold again. Here, sleep with a hat on.” He rooted through Marcus’ duffel and pulled out a beanie, and Marcus pulled it on. “Let me know if you’re still cold, I’ll get another blanket.” He hauled himself back into his own bed and covered back up.

“Hey, Pitch?” Marcus asked, and Pichelli hummed at him. “Thanks.”

“Get some sleep, Tappetto.” He tucked the flat, dead pillow between his knees again. “And you’re welcome.”

“Very wholesome,” Post muttered. “Now shut up.”

“Don’t tell Pitch to shut up, Post, that’s rude!” Marcus insisted.

“Don’t tell me to shut up, little guy, you shut up,” Post snapped back.

“Don’t tell the little guy to shut up, Post, that’s my job. Tappetto, shut up,” Pichelli said with a stupid grin.

They told each other to shut up a few more times, laughing quietly, and faded into sleep.


	16. Another Day on the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team arrives at a new job site, this one a little more dangerous than the last.

“How’s everyone doing?” Wendy Mann asked as she loaded an extra fuel cell into the back of the Turtle. “You guys get breakfast?”

“Still cold. But not as, um, empty?” Marcus noted. He hopped into the Turtle, and Post nudged him in deeper. “Had a big dinner.”

Pichelli had actually watched Marcus eat dinner. It had never occurred to him that Marcus hadn’t been cleaning his plate before. Did he eat enough in SEP? Pichelli honestly couldn’t remember!

“Well, make sure you finish breakfast,” Post nagged and let Captain Capri use his arm to balance herself as she hopped inside. “Where we off to, Wendy Mann, my man?”

“Can’t say,” she said and drew a finger across her lips. “Top secret. We got a caravan this time, though.” She gestured to the two other Turtles in the lot.

“Think the bots will be there?” Marcus asked, and dropped his duffel in the storage inside the seat. He was happy he wouldn’t be dropped in the armored seat any more; with his trouble controlling his body temperature, he was sent out with both heating packets and cooling wipes.

“Maybe. I mean, they’re kinda everywhere.” Pichelli set his kit inside the seat, and shut the lid. He and Marcus sat down and strapped in. “Now, I don’t want any back talk today, OK? No stupid anime references.”

“Hey,” Post said and pointed, “my references are not stupid.”

“They are unprofessional,” Captain Capri sighed. She had copies of the research from the other day, and was still working through it all. 

“And no bickering.” Pichelli picked up his datapad and scrolled through it. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us, so Tappetto, I need you to finish breakfast.”

“I don’t, do you know how many calories this is?” Marcus complained and gestured to the rest of his MRE box. “This is so much food, I’m not used to eating so much food!”

“You’ve got,” Wendy Mann said and checked her datapad, “almost two hours. Chop chop, little guy!”

Marcus groaned and continued to work on his protein bar. “I’ll get fat!” He ate so much dinner last night he simply wasn’t hungry! He took a swig of water and continued to study his copy of the research. “I can’t get fat!”

“Fat is good. Fat means you’re not starve-” Pichelli suddenly stopped. “Tappetto?”

Marcus looked up, a little guilty.

“Have you been under eating on purpose?”

Marcus looked down at the floor and took another bite of protein bar. “I can’t get fat,” he hissed. “No one loves a fat guy.”

“We love Post,” Wendy Mann snapped firmly, and Post nodded.

He wasn’t just tall, but broad and round. “More of me to love!” Post insisted and slapped his belly.

“Everyone loves the big guy,” Wendy Mann insisted. She stood, took Marcus’ cheeks in her ha her hands, and kissed his forehead. “And we love you, too.”

“We’re not your ex-boyfriend,” Pichelli said quietly. “I would prefer it if you were a healthy weight. Now, let’s get going. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

  
  
  


“I am not peeing out the back of the Turtle!” Marcus insisted. He had finally finished his breakfast, and drank almost two liters of water in the process.

Turtles were armored carriers, an armored cab hauling an armored bed that could house anywhere from six to twenty-four people, depending on size. Pichelli’s team used the smallest one, which was still cramped thanks to Post’s massive 6’10” frame.

Pichelli and Marcus sat on one bench, facing Post and Captain Capri. From time to time Post would sling his long legs across the aisle, but no one complained until he popped his hips.

“Just open the door and whiz, little guy,” Post said again. The back of the Turtles had a hatch, as well as one on the ceiling. The windows could crack, and the team had them all open as far as they could for the precious breeze.

“That’s gross,” Captain Capri said with a sniff.

“We agree, then,” Marcus said with a nod.

“Look, if you’re worried about falling out, I’ll hold your belt or something,” Pichelli said as he swiped to the next page of his novel. There were part of a convoy and could afford to relax for a change.

“No, I’m not taking a pee out a moving vehicle! We live in civilization!” Marcus insisted.

“Used to, at any rate, before the bots,” Pichelli said and returned to his book.

“Wendy Mann, what is your wisdom?” Post asked their driver. “Little Guy’s gotta piss. What’s your verdict?”

“Just open the hatch!” she called back. “Piss out the back, it isn’t hard!” She shook her head. “I do it all the time!”

“How?” Post asked, but Wendy Mann shook her head again.

“I am, no! I will not!” Marcus insisted. “There are two other carriers on the road! What if they see me?”

“Then use an empty, yeah?” Post said and gestured to an empty bottle.

“No, we refill those!” Pichelli snapped. “Wait, Post, have you been-”

“No, OK?” Post interrupted. “Look, little guy, we can’t start and stop just because you got to pee. I’ll hold your belt, yeah?” Post offered.

Marcus bobbed a little, then nodded. “Fine. Don’t let go!” He was almost jiggling his leg, he was so uncomfortable.

“Disgusting,” Captain Capri said as she turned to face the front.

“Do you want me to radio the guy behinds us, and let him pass? Put us in the back?” Wendy Mann asked.

“I guess that would work?” Marcus said after a moment.

“Leonardo, this is Donatello. Shy guy’s gotta take a piss out the back, pass us for a minute?” she asked into the radio.

Marcus groaned. “Did you have to tell them?” he whined.

“That’s big cowabunga,” the driver from Leonardo said, and Wendy Mann adjusted her speed.

“How many guys have seen your dick in the shower?” Wendy Mann asked as she slowed. She and Leonardo waved at each other, and she pulled back.

“That’s different! Everyone is naked then!” Marcus insisted, and both Post and Pichelli stood. “What?”

“Post, grab Tappetto,” Pichelli said and unzipped his pants. “Will it make you feel better if I whiz, too?”

“No?” Marcus said with a raised eyebrow. “I can wait until we stop,” he lied.

“Take the piss, D’Angelo,” Wendy Mann called from the front. “I didn’t let Leo pass me for nothing, and we’ve got over an hour to go.” She checked the mirror that let her see into the back. “I see that pee-pee dance!”

“Fiiiiiine,” Marcus hissed and adjusted his pants. He let Post grip the back of his belt, and he blushed and looked up to the ceiling as he urinated.

“Seriously, little guy, you piss at the urinals all the time, right? Why so shy?” Post asked as he politely looked away from Marcus. “Hey, did you know that all animals on Earth pee for twenty-one seconds?”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the urinals. You normally use a stall,” Pichelli stated. “You gotta stand up, you know, it’s not healthy to sit all the time.”

“There’s no science backing that up,” Captain Capri stated.

“No, no, makes sense,” Post said. “Gravity and stuff, yeah?”

Somehow, despite ending every third sentence with a question, Post managed to not make it a question.

“Is this,” Marcus asked as he blushed, “can we not? Talk? While I’m, you know, peeing?”

Pichelli laughed, finished up, and returned to his seat, and once Marcus was secured, Post urinated as well. He shut the hatch, and they all took their seats.

They all accepted a quick squirt of hand sanitizer from Captain Capri and wiped their hands down while Wendy Mann returned their Turtle to the middle of the convoy.

  
  
  


Marcus was a little proud to be so tall. Sure, Wendy Mann, Pichelli and Post, especially Post, loomed above him, but it was nice to be as tall, or taller, than some of the surrounding men. His boots had thick soles and mild heals, as well, so he was easily looking most people in the eyebrows or foreheads.

“So, you’re the man with the angel eyes?” Commander Lynn asked, and Marcus nodded. “We’ve got some graffiti on the east side, and some weird lights a few blocks down.” He looked at Post and gave an appreciative whistle. “Nice to have some of you big guys with us.”

“Happy to help,” Marcus said in a bright voice. He wondered what the others thought of him, with his long coat and thick goggles. Did he look cool? Marcus wanted to look cool. “When can we begin?”

“You can hop in Giotto here, and we’ll start a tour of scenic Dry Creek, Nevada!” Commander Lynn grinned and gestured to their own Turtle. “We’ll show you around. There’s a lovely burned out diner, a cozy little shot up bar, and a pile of cars that looks just divine when the sun hits them just right,” he said as he kissed his fingertips. “Everyone, load Giotto and let’s get moving!”

Wendy Mann looked at the front of the Turtle nicknamed Giotto. “I want one,” she stated flatly.

“You gotta Turtle, you got Donnie!” Post said.

Wendy Mann gestured them off and pointed to the front of Giotto. “No. Look.”

Giotto had a teal mask made from plastic over the grill and surrounding the headlights, along with a ‘G’ icon right above the license plate.

“Donnie needs a mask.” Wendy Mann’s voice left no room for debate. “Shotgun!”

“You got one of the original four?” Commander Lynn asked as he followed Marcus into Giotto.

“Because of little guy here, right?” Post said with a grin. “He’s pretty important, so he got to pick the color, you see.” He all but scooped Marcus up and shoved him inside. “There you go!”

“Well, I like Giotto,” the driver said defensively. “He’s a good, strong Turtle, isn’t hims?” She pet the dashboard affectionately as Wendy Mann took the passenger seat. “I was able to rig him up a new power converter. Now I’m able to use VE20s as well as VE12s for batteries.”

“Oh, I need to do that!”

Marcus listened to Wendy Mann and Gracie Wilde chatted excitedly about mechanical and electrical issues while the others loaded Giotto. He had to be under cover, of course, and sat in the corner.

“You good, Tappetto?” Pichelli asked as he walked up to him. “You know I get the corner.”

‘It would just be faster if I could help,” Marcus said quietly. He stood up and Pichelli took the corner.

“You know you’re grounded.” Pichelli grunted when Marcus sat down and heavily fell against him in a sulk. “If you’re good and you behave I have something for you at the end of this mission.”

“Are you seriously bribing your man?” Commander Lynn asked.

“Hey, you try working with a diva, yeah?” Post asked and tried to make himself as small as possible.

“I’m not a diva!” Marcus insisted.

“Oh, I’m cold, I need a coat. Oh, I’m blind, where’re my goggles?” Post said in a bright voice, and Marcus fumed. “Aw, c’mon, little guy, I’m just funning!”

“He’s just mad because he can’t help,” Pichelli said with a nod. “He likes to help.”

“I like to help,” Marcus grumbled into the collar of his coat. “Here I am, sitting inside, while you guys do all the heavy lifting.”

“You are seriously complaining you don’t have to work?” Commander Lynn’s eyebrow almost touched his hair line.

“He’s pretty well guarded,” Pichelli said, and paused. “Yeah, you don’t get to do much, do you?”

“Nope. And when I DO get to go outside, the sunlight blinds me.”

“The sun is a deadly laser, yeah?” Post said.

“That sucks,” someone with glasses said down the line.

“Yeah,” Pichelli sighed, “it does.”

“I wish all specially skilled agents liked the help,” Commanded Lynn noted as the Turtle started moving.

“Some of us have to do research and aren’t available for other activities,” Captain Capri said in a smart voice. “Also, in case no one noticed, most of these crates weigh as much as I do.” She continued to examine her equipment, checking and double checking soldered wires and parts.

“You’ll do fine, Captain,” Pichelli said after they took a sharp turn. “Your goggles won’t fall apart!”

“It might be better if they did,” she said quietly. “I’m not happy with this build.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll make me obsolete yet,” Marcus said and sat up straight, his sulking over.

“Well, that’s the plan, at least.” She put everything away and and adjusted her box between her feet. “Once we get everyone seeing like you do, we’ll have a much better chance at deciphering the writing. So far we only know basic numbers and directions.”

“It’s still more than we knew before,” Commander Lynn noted. “I wish they’d release what we do have, let someone look at it.”

“Commander Lynn loves languages,” a woman with a scar across her cheeks said. “He wrote a language for this story he’s writing! It’s so neat!”

“Bell!” he snapped with a laugh. “Come on, it’s not that great.”

Marcus tried to hand over his datapad, and Captain Capri squawked at him and snatched at the datapad, and Marcus pulled it back out of reflex.

“That is military research!” she insisted.

“Oh, no,” Bell said in a dry voice, “how dare someone try to help save the world.”

Captain Capri sighed and sat back, and Marcus put the datapad away.

They drove in silence a few blocks, then an alarm barked at them.

Pichelli quickly wrapped his arms around Marcus and braced for impact, and something slammed into the side of Giotto.


	17. Chapter 17

“E-54! Watch the kids, I’ll get the boomstick!” Commander Lynn shouted and reached into the seat. Giotto was dented, but still upright, and Commander Lynn only had to lightly jiggle the seat lightly to haul it open. He pulled out a weapon that was more than a rifle and a little less than a cannon, and popped out the ceiling hatch near the cab.

He quickly hauled the weapon up and activated it, letting the ammo slide into place, lock itself down, and fire into what passed as a face for an omnic. The face-plate cracked and the side of the head splintered, and Commander Lynn dropped back down inside. Giotto’s treads started grinding and the Turtle shuddered around them, but they weren’t able to move.

“Three of them,” he groaned. One was enough on a good day! “Barnes, can we get moving?”

“Sorry, Commander, the treads are damaged! Giotto’s stuck!” Sergeant Barnes reported. “Incoming, starboard!”

Everyone braced for impact as a second E-54 slammed into the other side.

Marcus kicked open the seat, pulled his duffel bag out and assembled his rifle, then hauled himself out of the roof hatch before Pichelli could stop him. He rolled away from the hatch, exhaled, and shot down a drone. His eyes scanned the skies, and he adjusted his goggle settings, letting in more light.

He was going to have such a headache when this was over!

He dropped another drone and someone gripped him by the waist. “You never listen!” Pichelli grunted as he dragged Marcus through the hatch. “You’ve got to work on your ‘not forgetting the world exists while shooting’ skills!”

The E-54 aimed upwards, and Pichelli shot at its lens with his sidearm. The omnic shuttered itself, and Commander Lynn fired one of the large shells into the neck joint. The blast ripped off the plating and detonated behind the omnic, tossing chunks of street into the air.

“Get to the other Turtle! Down fifth street, Giorgione is three blocks over!” Commander Lynn ordered, and Pichelli nodded.

“C’mon, Tappetto, we gotta move. Post! Mann! Capri! We’re moving out!” Pichelli went to grab Marcus’ arm to haul him along, but Marcus was already reloading and shooting at one of the E-54’s necks. The joint sparked and shattered, and Marcus returned to scanning the sky.

Pichelli slapped Marcus’ shoulder and gestured for him to follow once the others caught up, and Marcus followed silently. “I guess you only really shine when you’re under pressure!” he shouted over the grinding of the E-54’s tank treads.

“Don’t know what to tell you!” Marcus shouted back, and aimed. Another drone crashed to the ground.

“How do you know where they even ARE?” someone to their left shouted.

“They’re glowing!” Marcus insisted. He reloaded and scanned the horizon, his eyes focusing and flickering under his goggles. He adjusted a setting and lifted his rifle and fired again. It suddenly occurred to him that the others couldn’t see the drones. To Marcus, he was finding objects flashing in the sky. To the others, he was shooting at nothing and drones were falling. Maybe he DID look cool, after all.

“We got a spider nest somewhere, they’re taking down the boys on Baker street!” their radios hissed.

Marcus bolted, and Pichelli took off after him. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” Pichelli grunted, but Marcus quickly out paced him, then easily hopped to the roof of a bus then the roof of a first story building. “Son of a bitch! I forget how fast that bastard is!”

Marcus adjusted his goggles, zooming in on Baker street, and paused. He aimed and fired, taking down another drone, kept running. All around him he could hear battle, and he prayed as a ran, chanting the Ave Maria under his breath in Latin.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.” He braced his rifle on the parapet of the roof and fired at the lenses of an E-54, shattering them. “Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus.” He shot two more drones down, one crashing into the street. It barely missed the bus several men were hiding behind. “Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.”

He reached Baker Street, reloaded, and started firing, picking off spiders. Once the numbers were down he watched their movements, searching for a pattern. They had to be coming from somewhere, but where? There were a sea of stomping legs and flashing lights and rippling waves of motion. They moved, they filled in the blanks left by the fallen spiders, and shifted in sequence, stomping legs and flashing lights and rippling waves of motion

But they were omnics. There was a pattern. 

Omnics always had a pattern, even with stomping legs and flashing lights and rippling waves of motion.

After another minute Marcus found it. He followed it to its source and watched, picking off spiders, just to make sure. “I found the nest!” He announced. 

He started running, then jumped off the roof. He hit the ground and rolled, and picked off several more spiders, following the shifting lines. “Spider nest is in the green building, H. John Hardware!” he shouted into his communicator. “They filter out through the side door!” He continued to fire, and while someone lobbed a few grenades, took the time to scan the sky. He dropped another drone, and returned to the spiders.

“D’Angelo! Get! Your ass! To cover!” Pichelli snarled into the communicators. “Where! The hell! Are you!” Shooting and running and shouting all at the same time could tax even an enhanced soldier.

“In front of H. John Hardware,” Marcus said calmly, and he shot three more spiders. “Lovely little town, you know, except for the bots.”

Marcus was calmly picking off spiderbots by the time Post caught up.

“OK, listen up, you scrawny little margay!” he snapped as he slammed a fist into a larger spiderbot, “don’t run off like that, yeah? And pay attention!”

“What’s a margay? Is than an anime?” Marcus asked, and Post snagged his waist. “Don’t just move people, that’s rude!”

“Don’t just run off!” Post slung him behind a bus next to Pichelli. “You’re grounded!”

“You’re not my real dad,” Marcus muttered, and Pichelli hissed at him. Marcus hissed back, and Pichelli glared. “I know, I know, too important.” He looked down the street and focused. “Hey, hey, that 54’s back is exposed! Cover me! I can hit it!”

Marcus leapt to the top of the bus as if walking up a single stair, and lay prone. As he adjusted his energy rifle, the bus shifted as Pichelli joined him, leaning over him. Marcus focused, exhaled, waited for the soldier to move aside, and fired.

The E-54’s back erupted in an explosion of sparks and plasma, and it froze.

Marcus was aware of Pichelli on the communicators. 

“Yeah, we’ve moving house, taking Frederick to Avenue G! Got a sniper! The little guy!” Pichelli nudged Marcus. “C’mon, can you do that again?”

“Of course!” Marcus quickly cracked his rifle open and vented it. “Gonna take a minute to cool down. That’s a powerful shot.”

“It can rest on the run. C’mon, we gotta move!” Pichelli hopped off the bus and Marcus followed.

“Where’s the captain?” Marcus asked as the rounded the corner. “She’s just a person! I mean, a normal person!”

“So is everyone here who isn’t us,” Post said, his giant boots thundering after them. “

Mann has her. Focus on your mission, D’Angelo!” Pichelli urged. “We’re in position!”

Marcus quickly used his knife to clear some dead flowers from a planter and set his rifle on it. “Hate it when you use my last name,” he muttered as he adjusted his goggles. “Means stuff’s about to get real.”

“Shoot your gun and not your mouth, Tappetto.” Pichelli waited, then looked down at him. “Well?”

“It’s not open.” Marcus’ voice was quiet. “I can’t punch the armor to reach the inside.”

Pichelli pointed at the omnic. “Post, get in there! Tappetto needs to his its guts!”

“On it!” Post shouted and charged forward. He had no weapon drawn so the omnic ignored him at first, but the sudden charge of his electric gauntlets got its attention.

Post was not a small man.

He was never a small man.

He was almost twelve pounds when he was born via cesarean section.

In sixth grade he was well on his way to six feet.

Now, despite his round looking physique, he was not obese.

Benji Post was almost seven feet and four-hundred pounds of enhanced muscle, wrapped in armor and armed with electric gauntlets.

“FALCON! PUNCH!”

Benji Post was almost seven feet and four-hundred pounds of enhanced muscle and pop culture memes, wrapped in armor and armed with electric gauntlets.

His right cross to the omnic wasn’t enough to break through the armored hide, but it was enough to crack the plates and almost rip one off. He let his momentum carry him forward, then turned, gripped the E-54’s arm, and wrenched upwards. “Show me your moves!”

The omnics were not designed to prevent upward movement, much like how an alligator was not designed to be strong opening its mouth. Several gears and ball bearings creaked and groaned, and Post took his leave, darting into an ally.

Marcus exhaled and lined up his shot. “Turn it clockwise,” he said quietly.

“I’ve got this!” Post returned from the ally and darted across the street, and heaved a chunk of cement the size of a small child at the omnic. He kept running, and the omnic rotated and shifted.

Marcus exhaled. He tilted ever so slightly, and waited.

Marcus fired.

Marcus adjusted a setting and fired again.

Nothing happened at first, and Pichelli pulled back, startled.

“Did you mi-” he started to ask, and the omnics back sparked when he lifted its arm. 

After a brief spark, its chest cavity rippled and expanded sharply, and Wendy Mann ran out with a fire axe. 

She leapt at it with a savage shriek and brought it down on the exposed neck, and the head wobbled. After two move chops she impaled the axe in its shoulder, gripped the head, and wrenched it off. Wendy Mann then hopped off the back and back to cover.

“Wendy’s pretty cool,” Marcus muttered as he vented his rifle. “How many left?”

“One left that we know of. C’mon, let’s get moving!” Pichelli urged. “How long to cool down?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t think I let it cool down long enough last time!” Marcus examined his weapon and pulled out a small toolkit.

Pichelli slung an arm around his waist and hauled. “Not in the middle of the field, Tappetto!” he exclaimed, and as they ran he lowered Marcus so the young man could run with him. “I shouldn’t have to tell things like this!”

They took cover in an old bank, and tucked themselves behind a counter with a handful of soldiers. “OK, so what’s wrong with it?” Pichelli asked as Marcus begin to disassemble it. It was still odd for Pichelli to think of his gentle, chatty friend as a deadly sniper.

“I think I warped a containment ring.” 

Pichelli watched, amazed, as his normally bubbly friend striped his rifle apart and examined it. 

Marcus quickly got into his duffel bag and pulled out another kit, and swapped a few pieces out. “OK, this thing going to be worthless. It wasn’t meant to be overcharged like this! The entire energy housing is blown out, and my lens is melted.” Marcus continued to tinker.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Pichelli muttered. “But can you fix it?”

“I might get one, two more shots, but after that, she’s dead.” Marcus pulled the barrel free and tried to roll it, but it wobbled under his hand. 

“Sorry about your girlfriend,” a sergeant said behind him. “Never seen a girl like that before, looks like an MRAD?”

“Based loosely on it.” Marcus sighed as he looked down the barrel. “Man, she’s warped.”

“Most chicks are, my man,” the man muttered, and Marcus shook his head.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Marcus’ firm voice startled Pichelli. “Women are people.” He reassembled everything and checked it a second time, and shook his head. “Pitch, I don’t think I can fire this.” Marcus shook his head again. “The barrel isn’t straight. It’ll overheat and explode.”

“Well, that’s less than copacetic,” Pichelli sighed. “We’ve gotta do what we can to take out the last bot.”

“I might be able to rig the batteries to explode, but that’s not a reliable boom.” Marcus disassembled his weapon again. He quickly put some pieces away, including the barrel, and started to pry open the battery. 

“Are you serious going to detonate an energy battery?” one of the soldiers asked. “Those things are risky to use as it is!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea!” Marcus shouted back. He fiddled with something inside the battery and jammed it back into the slot. “OK, now, all we have to do is jam the short end of what’s left of the barrel in the things armpit or something and pull the trigger and run like hell.” He held the gun with gentle hands. “This might explode very quickly. And with or without me pulled the trigger. I actually think this is a very bad idea and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Got any tape in your bag?” Pichelli asked, and Marcus nodded. Pichelli quickly rooted though the bag and hauled out some gaffer tape. “Where did you get this?”

“Wendy gave it to me to hold for her.”

Pichelli shrugged and tore a strip off. “OK, so, we tape this to the omnic and run like hell.”

“I am unhappy with this idea.” Marcus gently shifted the rifle in his hands.

“New idea. Can you use a normal rifle?” Pichelli asked, and Marcus nodded, skeptical. “Hey, pal, give him your rifle. Now, I’m gonna tape this to the ground. We’ll get the omnic to walk over it, then you shoot the rifle and it explodes under the omnic.”

“That’s stupid,” Marcus sputtered. “They root in place, you can’t get it to move like that!”

Pichelli gripped Marcus’ ruined rifle and tugged, and Marcus let go. “OK, new NEW idea. Can you hit a moving target?”

“You dang well know I can!” Marcus insisted, and one of the soldiers suppressed a snicker.

“Good, give him your rifle, we gotta move!” 

Someone handed over a standard rifle and Marcus quickly examined it. He followed Pichelli outside. “Careful with that thing! It could explode, Pitch!”

“Counting on it!” They rounded the corner and Pichelli spotted the E-54. “Incoming explosion!” he shouted on all channels. “Stand clear! Tappetto, you’re up!”

Pichelli drew his arm back and whipped his arm out, flicking the rifle like a flying disk.

“Applesauce!” Marcus swore and dropped to one knee. He aimed. He exhaled.

He fired.

The explosion ripped through the omnics body, tearing at its armed and shearing off an arm. Its head wobbled, and Commander Lynn stepped out from cover.

“Boomstick!” he yelled, and lined up his shot.

The chest of the omnic erupted, and Marcus fired twice. One shot hit the core, and the omnics body finally cracked. It slumped forward, and there was a hush on the field.

“We have drones,” Marcus said sharply. He lifted the rifle and shook his head. “This thing doesn’t have the reach. I need a sniper rifle!”

“Not available. C’mon, we need to get moving. Everyone out of sight, now!” Commander Lynn ordered, and everyone quickly retreated into the buildings or surviving transports.


	18. Stickers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pichelli gets a good idea and Marcus stands up for himself.

Marcus had disassembled and reassembled the rifle, and Pichelli watched, slightly in awe. 

"You know," he said to Marcus in a quiet voice, "sometimes you surprise me."

"I know." Marcus shrugged and leaned against the counter they were hiding behind.

Pichelli barked a laugh. "Mouthy little guy, aren't you?"

"I know."

"Punk brat kid," Pichelli scoffed and ran his hand over Marcus' helmet. The safety after an intense half hour caused an adrenaline crash, and they were all a little tired and giddy.

"He's not a kid, Pitch," Wendy Mann reminded him. 

Captain Capri smirked a little. "He just acts like one." She was trying not to cackle from nerves. "Oh, he's not getting us killed today, that's always a good thing!"

"I'm sitting right here," Marcus sighed.

When the call to find cover was issued, Wendy had waved them into the post office she and Captain Capri were hiding in. The captain had chosen it so she could examine the wall across the street, and so long as she kept her head down, Wendy Mann let her observe it. While Captain Capri doodled what her goggles could see, Wendy Mann quickly started guiding men to cover, hauling a few wounded into the post office.

Outside they could see Post rip the core out of the last E-54 with a chunk of rebar before ducking into the bar across the street.

Captain Capri leaned out from behind the counter, and Wendy Mann prepared to cover her. So far her goggles had only been able to see less than half the light Marcus' eyes could. Captain Capri adjusted her lenses, then took a breath. "It's fading!" she lamented, and Marcus pulled his book and pen out. 

"And fast, too," he said as he wrote down what he could. 

"It's gone!" Captain Capri was confused. She looked over at Marcus, and she watched as he lifted his goggles and squinted. Of course he could still see what her goggles couldn't. "Oh, it's gone," she hissed again as he pulled back and rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah. It's gone," he agreed, and handed out his notes. "It was all red." He adjusted his goggles, shuttering them a little more than usual. "Well, are we taking down the drones?"

"No, we're waiting for extraction." He looked over to Marcus. "And that guy gets his rifle back."

"It's not my fault the battery overheated in the M23. And melted the barrel a little." Marcus felt better with a rifle in his hands, despite how light and fragile it felt. He hadn't realized his M23 was so much bulkier. "I mean, I DID overclock it the second time, but I didn't mean to do it the first time."

"That's all information you should share with the engineers," Captain Capri said as she tucked her research supplies away. "What's the extraction ETA?"

"Should be here soon," Wendy Mann said. "Backup was called once the bots started trouble."

Pichelli took a moment to breathe, and adjusted his communicator. "OK, let's just hang tight and out of sight." 

They sat quietly, and Marcus pulled out his para-cord rosary. He started saying his Aves as he continued to work on the knots.

Pichelli noticed Captain Capri staring at Marcus, her face dark, so he rotated to keep him out of sight.

Captain Capri pulled out the omnic head Wendy Mann had ripped off and examined it. She pried a piece off, examined it, then ripped another panel off. "I'm taking this back with me. I haven't seen this head model yet, and these features aren't just cosmetic. This head is different."

"Do you have to?" Marcus asked, and Captain Capri looked over at him. "It's creepy. Like the last one." He leaned back behind Pichelli some more.

"You don't have to be afraid of it," she scoffed. "I've disabled it, and once we get to base, I have a sealed room to work on it. I'm certain these features mean it's some advanced model."

Marcus didn't look convinced. "Should you be talking about stuff like that around it?"

"They react to sound, but I don't think they even know sound is a viable communication tool! They use light and Bluetooth." She continued to rotate the head. "Quit being such a scaredy cat."

"At least I'm not mean," Marcus muttered into his chest.

Pichelli sighed. "OK, you two, knock it off." 

They all jumped at a crash outside, and Pichelli listened to the communicators. "OK, they're here, let's go. Tappetto, Capri, in the middle." As they left, Pichelli spotted something on the counter, and scooped a few things up. 

It only took a few minutes to load everything into the new Turtles, including Marcus tracking down the soldier he borrowed the rifle from. Once inside, Pichelli looked at his team. 

"OK, guys, good job today. Now, I've decided to work on a little incentive program. Here, these are your log books." He handed out some 2045 daily planners he took from the post office. "I got cars for Wendy Mann, since she likes cars. Moon-X for Post, that's the only anime one they had. Pretty star cloud things for Captain Capri because science. And for Tappetto, cute cat. It was either that or another Moon-X, and I don't want you getting them mixed up. Besides, you look like the type of guy who likes cats."

"Banjo!" Marcus exclaimed suddenly as he held out the little book. "I used to watch Banjo Gattino all the time as a kid!"

"You lied, short stack," Post said while waving his finger. "You said you didn't watch anime!"

"I didn't, I watched Banjo Gattino. If it was anime, mama wouldn't have let me watch it," Marcus explained patiently. "She hates anime."

Post crossed his arms. "It's the Italian version of the kid's anime ‘Ringu-chan no tanoshī bōken.’ The fun adventures of Little Rin, see? See, in Japan, his name is Rin." He held up his log book. "This is Moon Cross. It's a neat show, thanks."

Pichelli nodded and continued, pulling out the stickers he took from the shelter. "OK, Post, punched open an omnic, but you had to make an anime reference while you did that. Since you punched an omnic, I'll forgive it. Gold star." Pichelli cut a star out and handed it to Post, who took it in a large hand and looked at it.

"It goes in your book under today. Captain, you stayed cool under fire and listened when told not to move, even though you wanted to do your research. Gold star."

"I'm not a child," she huffed, and Pichelli pulled his hand away. "I earned that!" she snapped, and Pichelli handed it over. He then cut out a bronze star. 

"Tappetto, I'm only giving you a bronze star. You ran off and left cover, leaving me to track you down."

"But I wanted to help," Marcus said quietly.

"I know, but you need to listen to orders. Bronze star."

Marcus pulled out a pen and took a note, then stuck the star on the date. "Next Tuesday is February 21, 2045." 

"Yes, you can read a calendar," Captain Capri noted.

"Only one banana sticker will be given out per mission." Pichelli cut the sticker carefully with the manicure scissors. He held it, and a gold star, out to Wendy Mann, and her face lit up. "You kept the captain and several men safe. You hacked off the head of an omnic. Good job, lady, you earned it."

Wendy Mann smugly put her stickers in her log book, then paused. "Shit, you're right, little buddy, Tuesday is coming."

"It generally follows a Monday," Captain Capri said in an off-hand voice.

"Fat Tuesday," Wendy Mann said as if that explained it.

"Mardi Gras?" Post grinned. "I love Mardi Gras! Billie and I went for ages, we always did couples stuff, ya know?"

"Hey, do you have any photos?" Wendy Mann asked. "I don't have any photos any more. Everything I ever had," she said, and paused. "Lost it in Houston."

Post slung and arm around her. "I've got pics at the base, yeah? We can swap stories then, OK? You got pics, Pitch?"

Pichelli looked up, a moment of sorrow in his eyes. "Yeah, I got some."

"Ah, sorry, Pitch, didn't mean to upset you," Post said quietly.

"No, it's, it's fine. I just kinda lost everything." Pichelli leaned back and looked to Marcus. "The only thing you've got are you bible and rosary, right?"

"Pretty much." He leaned into Pichelli's side, then into his duffel bag. "Actually, almost everything I own is here. Clothes are back at the base." In his duffel were a few books, a water bottle, his energy rifle parts, and a another water bottle. "Sweet, got some water left."

"And and uneaten energy bar. Chomp chomp, Tappetto. You need your calories," Pichelli scolded.

"Oh, come on, that's too much food!"

"You know, little buddy," Wendy Mann said, "scars reappearing like that means your body is eating itself. You better eat. And don't you give me that look."

"Hey, little guy, look, eat that, and I'll make you something my mom makes me. I'll see if I can't scramble up something to make some ramen with. Real ramen, right?" Post offered.

"Your mom's Asian?" Captain Capri asked.

"Well, my real mom, my step-mom, Momo. She's Japanese, see?" Post said. "Taught me Japanese, got me into anime, loves me like no other." He took a deep breath and inhaled heavily through his nose. "She and dad, they, Las Vegas."

Las Vegas had been almost flattened by a rush of titans.

"Still don't know about Billie. She was visiting friends, see?" Post ran the back of his hands over his eyes. "I might never see her again. She's my everything, you know?"

Wendy Mann wrapped her arms around Post's arm. They rode quietly after that.

  
  
  


The sun was rising when they got back to base. Marcus waited for the research team to drag themselves to the debriefing room, carefully finishing the last knots in his para-cord rosary. He was examining it when Captain Capri walked in, talking to another researcher, and he quickly shoved it in his pocket. He then held out his notes and she took from him in a crisp movement before moving on.

Another researcher looked after one. "Wow, she really doesn't like you," he noted quietly once the door was shut. "What did you do?"

"I dunno," Marcus said with a shrug. "We were fine when we met, then, she decided she didn't like me. Glares at me a lot." He pulled his rosary out and undid the last knot.

Captain Stein held up a wrist. "Neat, my wife loves making para-cord stuff. She's convinced it's going to save my life once day." He was wearing a chunky para-cord bracelet in blue and white.

"So, I kinda of may have blown a rifle up."

"I heard. Parts, please." Captain Stein held his hand out.

Marcus handed over a plastic baggie filled with the parts he had saved, and held up his pen. "I'll have the rest of the report in a minute. Just distracted myself." He held out the rest of the parts, and Captain Stein put them on the cart.

"Yeah, para-cord's a great fidget toy. That a stim thing?"

"Oh, no, it's a rosary. Just something to do with my hands." He quickly finished the paperwork and handed it over. "Sorry about the rifle."

"This is important information," Captain Stein said as he examined the notes. "Everything helps us make a better weapons, and you'll have a new one tomorrow, at the latest. Another M-23, or a newer model." His eyes suddenly boggled. "You overclocked the battery?" he said with a squeak. "OK, that's it, you're showing me how."

"Can it wait until I get some sleep?" Marcus sighed, but he was already standing up. He let Captain Stein lead him to a table to explain the process. 

  
  
  


It had taken most of the morning for Captain Stein to recreate the explosion, and once he understood, he tried to send Marcus on his way.

Captain Capri, however, all but dragged him to her office. "Put these one." She shoved a pair of goggles at him, and Marcus balked.

"No," he said in a tentative tone.

She shoved them at him. "D'Angelo, put the goggles on."

"No, I like my goggles. They get darker or lighter and can shutter. See? Now I'm completely blind." Marcus shut his visors completely. 

"I need to calibrate!" Captain Capri insisted. "Put the goggles on!"

"I don't really want to," Marcus snapped back.

"That's an order, sergeant!" Capri snarled.

"And one I don't have to follow, captain," he said firmly. "These are a physical and medical necessity, like glasses or a wheelchair, and therefore, immune to being confiscated." He crossed his arms and turned his head.

"I need to calibrate my goggles!" she said in a slow, angry tone.

"I'm not stopping you." Marcus refused to look at her or open his goggles.

"Then put these on."

Marcus opened his goggles a slit, spotted the door, closed his goggles, and walked out.

"D'Angelo!" Captain Capri snapped, and he ignored her. "Get back in this room! You could be held in contempt!"

"I don't have to remove my goggles," he snapped back, and bumped into someone. "Oh, sorry, got my goggles shut. Hang on."

"What's going on?" a new voice asked, and Marcus opened his goggles. "Oh, hey, you're Jeanie's observer!"

Marcus must have looked a little lost. "Who?" He shut his goggles again.

"Captain Capri."

"Oh, I forgot she had a first name," Marcus muttered.

"D'Angelo!" Captain Capri snapped as she stomped from her office. "What is wrong with you? Get back in there!"

Post poked his head inside the hall. Marcus didn't need a constant escort while inside secured buildings, but they did have to stay close. "Little guy, you making trouble?" he asked.

"I'm not taking off my goggles. Captain Capri wants me to take off my goggles!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Post said in an even voice, "but little guy's right. They fall under a medical device, so you can't legally take them from him."

"Within reasonable accommodations," she said smoothly. "I need to calibrate my goggles, something he can help me do. He will be in a room with controlled lighting, the reasonable accommodations."

"I don't want to take off my goggles and try some weird experimental ones," Marcus said, and he was quickly losing patience. "I don't care if you've got 'reasonable accommodations.’ I need these to see, captain."

"It's his right, ma'am," Post said and ducked down to push himself in the room. He had to keep his head tilted with the short ceilings of the prefabricated building.

"Ma'am," the new voice said, "he has a point. His sight could be damaged under certain conditions. We can get a ruling from Commander Willows if you like, right."

"Let's," Captain Capri said, and returned to her office.

"Sorry, little guy," Post said and poked Marcus' shoulder. "You're gonna have to hang out a little until we get this sorted, yeah? You eat your breakfast?"

"I ate four breakfast bars," Marcus said with a shrug. "Those things are five hundred calories each!"

"Good, you're on your way to today's calories. Sit tight, I'm certain we'll be dealt with quickly, right?" Post pulled out another energy bar. "Here, load up." He tossed it to Marcus, and it bounced off his face.

While Marcus and Post argued about the politics of throwing breakfast foods and blind men, the new voice and Captain Capri entered her office. After Post convinced Marcus to eat the chocolate chip oatmeal bar, Captain Capri walked up the them, her heels clicking.

"You are free for the rest of the day, Sergeants." She then returned to her office.

"What IS it with her?" Marcus muttered as he and Post wandered off to get some rest.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus has some special alone time in the shower, then some special together time with his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut returns briefly

Marcus was glad he had a loud song playing on his datapad. The water was loud, the music was loud, and hopefully, he wouldn’t be. He hummed a little as he moved the shower head up and down, thumbing the head of his cock slowly.

After the encounter with Captain Capri, he had quickly come to realize something. He was one of a few people who could actually see the entirety of the omnic spectrum. There were complex cameras that could see what he could, but the omnics would focus on and shut them down too quickly. He and the other observers, all he assumed to be other 90s, were very important.

He had demanded a private shower, and was given one. He, Pichelli and Post were moved across the base to private quarters near the officer quarters, complete with said shower. Captain Capri and Wendy Mann had a smaller room and shared a toilet with the officers next door.

Marcus felt both happy and a little guilty. On one hand he finally had some privacy. He didn’t have to share a shower in the commons, and no longer had to share a toilet with the unit next door. He could turn the lights off but keep the fan on, and the pale glow of his phone as it played some watered-down rock music was dim enough not to hurt his eyes.

On the other hand, he had claimed he needed a private shower for medical reasons, that it was far too cold and took too long to warm up again. While not an entire lie, it really wasn’t so bad he needed a private shower.

But, ultimately he was grateful. He had a large enough shower with a little fold down seat in it and a shower head on a hose. A shower head he was now holding close to his cock and moving up and down.

He let go of his cock and adjusted the shower head, going to the next setting. He jumped a little and decided to stick with the setting he had nicknamed ‘Jackhammer.’ He ran his hand up his stomach to his chest, and pinched his nipple. His breathing changed and managed to brace the shower head between his leg and the shower seat. 

Marcus managed to keep himself quiet as he raked in fingernails across his nipple. He ran one hand lower to press against his asshole, and his dick jumped at the contact. Marcus’ eyes rolled a little in his head as he pressed the tips of two fingers in, his other hand still flicking his nipples.

“Ah, yeah, Jack, that’s good,” he hissed, and bit his lip as his spine tensed up. He pressed one finger in and his body jumped as the water pressure changed again; someone had turned their shower off on the other side of the wall. The shower head bucked a little, blasting his taint and making him jump a little.

The shower head clattered to the floor and he quickly reached for it, and held it against the base of his cock. Marcus came, lips pressed together, and trying to be quiet. Once his legs stopped trembling he used his washcloth to tidy himself up, gave his stomach a quick rinse, and cleaned the mess from the floor of the shower.

There was a reason he still wore shower shoes.

As he was getting dressed someone knocked. “What?” he asked. “Getting dressed.”

“Post scored some cookies and Wendy got marshmallows. We’re making fake s’mores. Get out here!” Pichelli called through the door, and Marcus finished dressing. After removing his lenses he pulled his goggles on, hauled his beanie on as he left the bathroom, and spotted the others in the ‘sitting area’.

They had the bathroom, a kitchenette that was basically a counter with some cabinets, a sink and space for electric appliances they did not have, the bedroom and the open area. The bedroom was blocked off by sliding walls that were locked into place. It wasn’t bad, but it had the same temporary feel the entire base had.

Wendy Mann had created a small heater from parts including soda cans, something she called a penny stove. She was melting a toasting and grinning like a fool, a box of oatmeal cookies and a few candy bars by her side.

“Is that safe? Like, carbon monoxide or something?” Marcus asked as he sat between Wendy and Post. 

Pichelli cracked a window, then dropped a blanket over Marcus. “We good?”

Marcus shrugged then nodded. The cool of air of a February evening crept in, but Marcus was given a hot mug of herbal tea. He settled as Post pulled out a chunky book.

“OK, so, this is me before SEP. I was kinda scrawny, yeah?” Post said as he opened it up. “I was only six five, Pitch’s height.”

“That’s scrawny,” Marcus said, slightly insulted. “Pitch is scrawny.”

“When you’re brawny like I am now, Pitch is scrawny, yeah,” he explained as he held out a photo. “This is my D&D group.” 

“I’m not scrawny,” Pichelli protested as he took the photo. 

“You’re scrawny. You’re all so tiny.” He pat Marcus’ head. “And cute. Totes dorbs, yeah?”

“How much fabric did you need for your robe?” Wendy Mann asked as she took the photo.

“Um, that one was made from dollar store sheets, I think.” Post took the photo for a moment. “Yeah, they cost a few bucks a set. Mister Dollar, I think, right?”

“That looks fun. Hey, didn’t Crissy play dungeon and dragon?” Marcus asked as he took the photo. “You all look like you’re having fun!”

“Oh, we had a BLAST, little buddy, ya know? Who’s Crissy?” Post handed out another round of photos.

“62, nice lady, really cheerful.” Pichelli laughed at the next round. “What are you doing, dressing up for a party?”

“LARPing!” Post explained. “Live Action Role Playing, yeah? I was a wizard.” 

They looked through the photos, laughing and talking and eating bootleg s’mores. 

“Billie looks very nice,” Wendy Mann noted and took a drink of herbal tea. It was after dinner so caffeine was not welcome. “Very cheerful!”

“We met in high school, yeah?” Post explained as Pichelli poured him another cup. “Thanks. I was pretty popular, being the linebacker and everything. I was the big guy on the football game that blocked the other team, ya know?”

Marcus nodded, knowing nothing of sports, while Wendy Mann pretended she already knew.

“She was just so lively, so cheerful, right? We started dating, and, just, look at her.” He held up a photo of Billie doubled over in laughter. “We call her Billie Wallbanger, ya know. Her last name’s Smith, but she always wanted to change it to Wallbanger. She plays the saxophone, and a few other things, oboe, clarinet, she sings, she dances, she’s so vibrant.” He wiped his eyes again. “I want to find her, I really want her to be OK.” 

Marcus leaned against Post, and Post wrapped an arm around him, and he let Post pet his arm. “I hope she’s OK.”

“I should have married her before I left. The last things I said to her was that I was going into a special training program, ya know? She thinks I’m a secret agent or something.”

“You kinda are,” Wendy Mann said and held her hands over the heater. They talked for several more minutes. “It’s getting late, I should get back.”

They all stood up, and Pichelli walked her the few steps to the door. “You want me to walk you home?” he grinned. 

“I’ll be fine, DAD,” she laughed, and they said their goodnights. She walked across the street and opened her door.

“Turn the light of and on so I know you made it inside safely!” he called, and Wendy Mann laughed as she covered and uncovered the flashlight on her cell phone. They shut their doors and Pichelli turned to the others. “You guys ready to turn in?”

“I’m gonna read for a bit,” Marcus said as he pulled out his earbuds. He had the bottom bunk bed again, and had hung some blankets to block out the chill. He liked his little bed cave.

Post stretched and scooped up the penny heater. “Yeah, I’m hitting the sack, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Pichelli said with a laugh. He hauled his sweatshirt off and shook his hair out. “Haircuts tomorrow, maybe? What’cha reading?”

“Maybe.” Marcus held up his phone. “Book on light and color theory. Figured it couldn’t hurt.” He hauled his night-mask on and adjusted the cotton pads underneath. He needed near perfect darkness to sleep lately.

“Don’t stay up too late. Night, Post.”

“Night, Pitch.”

Across the street, Wendy Mann brushed her teeth. She had covered her hair with a scarf and sitting on her bed when Captain Capri’s lamp turned on. “Oh, sorry, captain, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“No, I was just resting,” she said quietly. “What were you up to?”

“Oh, just talking and looking at photos. Post’s got a large book.” She adjusted her bedding and slung her legs on the bed.

“Oh, I didn’t know you guys were doing that.” Captain Capri actually sounded a little sad.

Wendy Mann looked over to her. “Well, you never want to include yourself in activities, so we quit asking. You never want to talk in the Turtle, or play trivia, so we assumed you wouldn’t want to look at photos.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Captain Capri said quietly. “You ready for the light?”

Wendy Mann nodded, and Captain Capri turned the light out.

  
  


“I don’t want another buzz cut,” Marcus said as he combed out his hair. All of their hair grew faster, and Marcus was rather happy about it. He had only ever had buzz cuts or short styles. “I mean, I don’t want it long or anything, but I’m not thrilled being almost bald.”

“Head get cold?” Post asked as ate some oatmeal.

“Head gets cold,” Marcus confirmed. “Maybe just the sides?”

“Like Gabe?” Pichelli asked from the bathroom and scraped the leather from his chin. He was really enjoying the personal shower, and once they moved on from Nevada, he hoped Marcus insisted on it again.

Marcus blushed a little. “I’m just tired of being cold.”

“We’ll be moved soon enough, hopefully some place warmer. How was your book on colors?” Pichelli asked.

“Oddly enough, visuals would have helped.”

Post laughed and put his dish in the sink. He was too large for the shower and was already dressed, having showered in the commons down the street. “Hey, we got soap yet?” he mused as he opened the cabinets. “We got nothing, just our food stash. We’ll fix that, yeah?”

“Don’t get too comfy here,” Wendy Mann said as she accepted a bowl of oatmeal from Marcus. “Capri said we might be moving soon.”

“I just now kinda got to liking it,too,” Marcus said and dished out a bowl of oatmeal for Pichelli. “I like having the shower. Less cold.”

“I hear that, it’s freezing today! You gonna be OK, Tappetto?” Pichelli asked as he took his bowl. Wendy Mann had found some trail mix and honey packets from a fast food place to add some flavor.

“I’m fine, I got a scarf.” Marcus started to eat his own bowl. They stood in the kitchenette, since they had no chairs. “I got a memo on my phone, I’m to go to the med lab and get some new lenses.” He had only pulled his goggles on this morning. “I should get going after this. Who’s my baby sitter today?”

“I gotcha,” Wendy Mann said as she stirred her breakfast. “I don’t get the spend NEARLY enough time with my handsome little man.”

“Oh, you’re sweet!” Marcus cooed. “And irritating!” He laughed as she playfully shoved at him. “I just know Capri wants me to calibrate her goggles for her. I hate that.”

“What’s it do?” Post asked.

“She wears her goggles and tells me what she can see, and I tell her what I can see. Then she just shoots light into my eyes and I tell her what it looks like.” Marcus fished out a large almond. “Sweet. Almonds. I love almonds.

“Good to know. What good does her lasering your eyes do?” Pichelli asked.

“No clue,” Marcus admitted. He took a long drink of water and finished off his oatmeal. After the lab he would have what Wendy Mann called Second Breakfast, then Elevenses. He was certain it was from a movie, but he didn’t want to ask. People made fun of people who hadn’t seen movies.

“C’mon, let’s get Capri and get moving.” She dropped her dish into the sink and Marcus took one last gulp of water. “You sure do drink of lot of water, boo. Here, take my arm.”

Marcus shuttered his goggles completely and slung his arm through Wendy Mann’s. “My eyes have been gritty lately, the water helps. Breakfast was good, the trail mix was nice!”

“Hang on, I’m gonna get the captain.” Wendy Mann knocked on the door to her and Captain Capri’s room. “We’re heading to the med bay, you want to walk with us!”

“She won’t,” Marcus muttered. Wendy Mann almost didn’t hear him.

The door opened and Captain Capri continued to lace her boots. “No, I’ve got to sort something out, I’ll be there shortly. You go on ahead.” 

“OK, see you there. C’mon, little guy.” Wendy Mann gave him a tug and the two started walking.

Along the way they were greeted by several people, and Marcus waved to the voices.

“You were great out there, Angel Eyes!” someone said, and he grinned. “Goggles, huh? Gotta protect those peepers, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m light sensitive.”

“That sucks. But the payoff’s worth it, right?”

Marcus was certain he had heard his voice the other day. “It’s a little hard, but I’m dealing OK.” He felt a slap on his shoulder, then he and Wendy Mann were moving again. 

Once at the med lab Wendy Mann led him to a room, and Marcus found the sink. He was washing his face when a familiar voice greeted him.

“Well, Sergeant D’Angelo, nice to see you again,” Dr. Boim said.

“Wish I could say the same, ma’am.” He turned, patted his face off, and let Wendy Mann lead him to a chair. “Do we have a guy outside the door?” he asked. “Normally Post stands outside.”

“Yeah, Bourne, a nice, large, Marine. He’s got the list.” Wendy Mann leaned against the wall. “We’ve been making sure he gets his calories.”

“Take a seat, please. I’m not expecting to see a result so quickly, but I appreciate you all take care of each other. OK, here, these are new goggles that should filter the light. I’m putting them in your hands. The filter only works inside, but really, they’re glorified sunglasses. If they work, we can apply them to your sclera lenses.”

“I like you. You don’t just say, here, put these on while I don’t tell you what they do.” Marcus pulled the new goggles on and carefully opened his eyes. “Well, they’re, they’re not painful?”

“I see here Captain Capri wants to fully examine your eyes. She’s no optometrist, but, she’s got some interesting ideas.” Dr. Boim flipped through some papers. “She wants to run a full spectrum over your eyes to see what you can see.”

“We did that back at the base,” Marcus said. “It was irritating and painful.”

“Those were basic lights. She wants to use the spectrum we can pick up from the omnics.” She examined Marcus’ eyes and made a sound. “Well, you’re cleared for her testing.”

“You don’t sound so sure, doc,” Wendy Mann noted.

“It won’t hurt, but it won’t be comfortable. It’s something that could really help out the research, but,” she said, her voice tired. “If you need to, she has to stop. You’re going to be out of commission for a day or two afterwards.”

“But, it will help?” Marcus asked in a quiet voice.

“I have no clue, Sergeant.” She clapped his shoulders in a friendly way. “That’s up to you. She should be waiting a few rooms down.”

“OK, let’s got see her,” Marcus said quietly. He pulled his old goggles back on, shuttered them, and let Wendy Mann leader him down the hall.

“Oh, Sergeant D’Angelo,” Captain Capri said as Wendy Mann escorted him to a chair. “I wasn’t sure you’d agree.”

“Well, it’s got to be done, right?” he asked, and undid his boots. He then turned his coat around and draped it over him like a blanket. “I want to be cozy while doing this.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” Captain Capri said and gathered her supplies. “Sergeant Mann, there are safety goggles in the cupboard. I know you can’t leave him alone.”

“I’m snagging yours, little guy.” She hauled them on and adjusted them. “Wow, these are really nice!”

Marcus adjusted his hips. “Twist the left one clockwise and hold the right one steady. It changes the color filters.” Marcus took a steadying breath, and felt Captain Capri walked to his head. 

Against his better judgement he let her strap his head down to stabilize it. He hated that part the most. “OK, let’s get this over with.”


	20. Chapter 20

Being restrained was hell.

Marcus reclined, head held still, and tried to keep his eyes open. His armored coat weighed him down, but it wasn’t the comfort he hoped it would be. He continued to let Captain Capri swap lenses. “Blue is still gone,” he said again as she twisted and clicked. “Still gone. Gone.” It was boring, and Marcus’ mind started to wander. Were they even testing blue anymore? What was the point of all of this?

“I said,” Captain Capri said sharply, “are you listening to me?”

“Eh? What? No, sorry, zoned out. My eyes hurt. They feel gritty,” Marcus sighed. He felt bad for complaining. “I need my eye drops.”

“Here, I’ve got them,” Wendy Mann said and pulled them out of Marcus’ coat pocket. “Two drops, right?” she asked as he pulled the experimental goggles off, then let out a surprised noise. It wasn’t quite a shriek, but close to it.

“What, what is it?” Marcus asked and ran his fingers under his eyes. “What is all this?” he muttered, and Wendy Mann pulled his hands away. “What is it? Sleep sand?”

Wendy Mann shuddered a little. “Why’s it red?”

“I don’t think it’s blood,” Captain Capri said softly.

“My eyes are bleeding? What did you do to me?” Marcus insisted and sat up straighter, his coat hitting the ground. “Everything looks weird, why’s the light so weird?”

“Here, put this on, I’ll send for Rhoda.” Captain Capri quickly pulled out her cell phone and starting texting with one hand, holding out a towel with the other. “Cover your eyes but don’t move any of the debris.”

“So, what are we looking at?” Marcus asked, impatient and nervous.

Wendy Mann dabbed at his cheeks with the corner of her sleeve. “Well, you’ve got this red, gritty mess just kinda seeping from your eyes.”

“Oh, no no no, leave it, Rhoda has to look at it!” Captain Capri said quietly. “I told you not to touch it! She’s on her way.”

Wendy Mann rolled some grit between her fingers and wiped it on Marcus’ shoulder, then comforted him with a few pats. “You’ll be OK, boo, Doctor Boim is a good woman.”

It didn’t take long from Doctor Boim to get to the room. She quickly took a swap of the grit and examined it under one of Captain Capri’s microscopes. “Well, it looks like standard eye sand,” she said and pressed on Marcus’ cheek a little. “I am going to flush your tear ducts and eyes, sergeant. You’re not going to like this.”

“I don’t like any of this,” he muttered.

“Well, it involves saline, and pressing on things, and taking a few samples. I’ve noticed your eyes are exceptionally dry, hence the lenses. I’m hoping we can flush out and get your eyes moisturized, and if it works, you may not need the full lenses any more.”

“OK, I like that part.” Marcus could feel her pressing right above his eyes. “So, um, we can do this. The get my eyes clean thing. Do we need to go to your office?”

“No,” Doctor Boim said after a moment. “But I’d like to, anyways, if you’re up to walking.”

“Been walking blind outside all week, a few halls won’t kill me,” Marcus said with a nod.

Before he could stand he felt Wendy’s hand on his shoulder. “OK, D’Angelo, listen and listen well. You in pain?”

He was startled at the anger in her voice. “It’s not really pain?”

“Do you hurt?” she snarled, and he nodded. “OK. If you are EVER in any pain or discomfort or ill ease every again, you tell me. You tell Pichelli. You tell Post. We are your friends, you little asshole, you hear me?”

Marcus jumped when her finger jabbed his shoulder.

“We take care of each other. We look out for each other, and I need to know I can trust you to do that. So you tell us when you’re hurt so we can fix it. I watched my father die of an illness he could have prevented if he just TOLD us he hurt. So, if you keep secrets from me, I will transfer to another unit. I’m not going to sit around and watch someone else I know die because they’re too stubborn and shy and traumatized to get help, you get me, little guy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly.

“So, any other complaints?” she asked as she helped him stand. “Marcus Leóne D’Angelo.”

“I’ve had a low grade headache since I woke up. I have a pimple on my butt that itches pretty badly but I haven’t messed with it. My nose is kinda dry, you know, on the inside, a little drier than usual, left more than right. My right elbow hurts where I banged it on the pipe in the shower. I’m a little hungry. I’ve been more hungry since I started eating more. I have to pee,” he rattled quickly.

“Let’s let you pee, then we’ll get your lacrimal gland irrigated,” Doctor Boim said and petted his arm comfortingly. 

  
  
  


Marcus was not thrilled.

Getting his eyes irrigated was not pleasant, but he couldn’t be put under general anesthesia for it. His body, like most SEP agents, simply burned through the chemicals. He lay still as Doctor Boim diluted his puncta, inserted a tube, and irrigated his ducts. For several minutes his eyes expelled liquid and grit. 

“You know,” Doctor Boim said as she readied another saline solution, “I am very upset with your previous doctor. You’re underweight, your eyesight is still developing, we need to research your temperature problem, and you should have never been deployed without proper antibiotics.”

“I’ve got an infection?” Marcus asked. He had to purse his lips so he didn’t get nasty eye fluid in them.

“What do you think caused all this?” Doctor Boim asked and gestured to his face. “I’m circling your face. Just so you know. But you don’t, since you can’t see me.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda blinded right now.” Marcus sighed. “I’m never going to be normal again, am I? I’m going to need the goggles forever.”

“Sorry about that. SEP affects so many different people in so many different ways.” Doctor Boim stroked his arm. “Ready for the next flush? The last one was clear, but I want one more just to be sure.”

“Can I, sure, but can I have a minute? To walk around a little?” His voice was tired.

“Sure, we can take a break.” After securing some goggles, Doctor Boim knocked on the door and Bourne opened it. “We’re walking the halls for a little bit.”

“You need them cleared?” he asked, and his voice rattled Marcus’ chest a little.

Doctor Boim paused for a moment. The medical center was small, and blocking off an entire hall seemed unnecessary. “No, just, um, follow us? Or something? I don’t know what the limits of your job are,” the doctor admitted.

“I could follow you up and down the hall and glare at people,” he offered. "Tackle people who get too close into the wall."

Dr. Boim shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

After an all too brief walk, Marcus let himself be sat down for the last flush.

  
  
  


“How’s my little buddy?” Post asked as he pulled back the blanket hiding Marcus from the world. “Got you a nice, hot can of chicken broth, yeah? Pitch said it’s your comfort food. For me, though, it’s golden rice with lots of butter and a fried egg and some collard greens, right? You know, just in case you were wondering. In case I ever need waited on, you see. What’s yours, Wendy?”

“Hm, hard to say,” she said as she ended her green floss. “I guess cookies and juice, coconut cookies. Red juice.” Her eyes closed in thought. “It wasn’t so much the cookies, but they fact they were there, that Mama got them for me. Usually they were Fudge Tigers, the ones with the stripes? They were a local store brand. One time we were out of those so she used frosting and one of those little tubes to draw them on sugar cookies with chocolate syrup.” She laughed at the memory.

Marcus had been resting, half propped up on some pillows, talking to Wendy Mann as she embroidered a few quilt patches. “I’ll keep that in mind. Is golden rice a type of rice or how you cook it?” He took a long drink and sighed happily. “Low sodium. My favorite.”

“Both, but I mean the recipe, right? It’s just rice made with saffron, and chicken broth, and a bit of garlic. Some butter, some onion, and a fried egg, ya know. Mom used to make it for me.” He sat down on the edge of his bed and took a drink of water from his bottle.

“Over easy so the yolk gets everywhere?” Wendy Mann asked and selected a golden floss. She laughed at the happy, blissful look on his face. “How old were you when Momo became your mom?” 

Marcus sat up straighter and took another drink. He could feel the warmth spread through his torso.

“Thirteen, I guess. She and dad got married when I was eleven. Barb, that’s my birth mom, she walked out when I was seven. Never looked back. But Momo? Mom.” He took a drink, wishing he had some pink lemonade Kool-Aid. “Never gave up on me. Never got mad or hit me. Just, you know, loved me. And showed me that simple things, something as simple as rice with seasoning, can mean something really important. That broth? That’s your something simple the means something important.”

“You miss her,” Wendy Mann said quietly and petted his arm gently.

“I’m sorry she’s gone,” Marcus said after another drink.

Post looked down at him. “You seem a little sad there, buddy.”

“Hey, boo, what’s wrong?” Wendy Mann asked.

“You both had good moms. Mine was, well, she wasn’t much. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Wendy Mann sat on the edge of the bed and turned and hugged Marcus. 

He hugged her back, and Post joined in.

“Yeah, we’re a team!” he grinned. “Your hands are freezing! Oh, yeah, Pitch said to get you to the shop, you need to get fitted for your coat.

  
  
  


Pichelli was getting some bottled fruit juice at the canteen when he heard someone call his name. 

“Pitch, Pitch, hey, Staff Sergeant Pichelli!”

Pichelli turned and recognised Commander Gomez, packages under his arm. They waved as each other as Commander Gomez jogged up to him. “Here, I got something for Angel Eyes.” He held out a package wrapped in flannel, and Pichelli quickly realized the flannel was the package. “Saw you ordered him a new coat, and I’ve been sitting on this. MARPAT flannel, ready to be cut and used as a liner for his coat.” He held the package out, and Pichelli took it. “Got it a few weeks ago, it was just sitting in storage.”

“This is neat,” Pichelli said as he examined the Marine camouflage. “He’ll really like it!” He took the second package when Commander Gomez held it out. “What’s this?”

“A bit of rabbit fur for the collar. Ethically sourced and perfectly legal. The guy gets cold, he could use a boost!” He clapped Pichelli’s shoulder and gave him a thumbs up. “You guys did a lot out there, punching omnics and, damn, Angel Eyes? Just picks a patch of sky and fires, and bang! Dead drone! Man’s amazing. Can’t have him getting cold!”

“Thanks, Commander, he’ll love it. I’ll give it to the fabrications department.” He checked his phone for the time. “In fact, he’s due for a fitting.” 

“You sure you’re up to this, buddy?” Wendy Mann asked as she guided him to the fabricator. 

“Yeah, sure, why not. I don’t need eyes to get fitted for new gear.” They had slung their arms together and were walking easily. “I’m sorry, Wendy, that I never said anything. I just don’t like complaining.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. “It’s OK, little guy. Just don’t do that, I was actually kind of scared.” 

Marcus squeezed her arm back and she led him around a pothole. “I’ll do better.”

“It’s all I ask,” she said with a grin Marcus could hear. “Why are people mooing?” she asked, and rolled her eyes as she suddenly remembered. “Barnyard. He’s picking up some gear. We can shoo him off, you know. You’ve got priority.”

“No, it’s OK, just, you know, if he stays over there and doesn’t bother us, we don’t bother him,” Marcus said quietly. “He was here first.”

“You’re far too forgiving, little guy.” She walked to the counter and gave Marcus’ name, and they hung near the wall while waiting for their name to be called.

There was no real order here, just supplies handed out as they were found. Some people were given their gear and mail right away, while someone looked like he had been there for a few hours, his face bored and irritated.

“Well, hey, lady!” a slimy voice leered at them and Floss leaned against the wall. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Marcus. “You.” He stomped forward and Wendy Mann put herself between him and Marcus.

“Sergeant Floss, I’m gonna need you to take two steps back, please,” Wendy Mann said in a firm voice.

“Or what, you’ll spank me?” he asked with a cheeky grin, and his face paled once Wendy Mann drew her gun and aimed it at his head.

“Take two steps back, Sergeant Floss, or I will shoot. I am Sergeant Mann, protecting Sergeant D’Angelo, Observer.” 

The street went silent, and a pair of military police started jogging up.

Floss backed up almost three feet. “Romeo? Um, tell her to put the gun down?” Floss asked as Pichelli entered the shaded area.

“You’re on the short list of people not allowed within twenty feet of him. Sergeant Mann could have had you removed on the spot.” He eyed her. “In fact, she should have.”

“I asked her not to,” Marcus admitted. “Didn’t seem, I mean, he was here first.”

“We’ll talk about this later, Sergeant D’Angelo. Floss, just take a walk, OK?”

Floss sneered at them, then turned and walked away. “Grab my boots, right, Flint?” he muttered, and Flint nodded. Floss gave a nasty glare and kept on walking.


	21. Picture Book II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team gets an assignment, and another round of photos to look at.

They were finally doing regular assignments now. Pichelli didn’t understand how something as vital as collecting intelligence could be so badly handled! That was the military, though.

“Damn, ever get a pair of britches that just don’t work with a certain pair of pants?” Post asked, and Wendy Mann grunted an affirmative. “They’re just riding up there, you know? They’re in deeper than when Billie pegs me.”

Pichelli groaned and held his head, then tapped his communicator.

“Post?” he said, but Post continued.

“I’m gonna get to my proctologist and he’s gonna take a peek in there and go, looking kinda shady down there, but damn, Benji, at least you wear good quality silk!” Post said. They could hear rustling, and Wendy Mann saying something in agreement.

“Post!” Pichelli said louder, and Post responded with a grunt. “Comm’s on.”

“Aw, crap.” There was a bit more noise. “No gold star today?” His voice was sad.

“Sorry, Post, no gold star,” Pichelli said evenly.

“Do I get my star?” Marcus asked as he continued to sketch. His voice was distant as his pen moved over the paper.

“If you do your job to the best of your abilities, and if you and the captain don’t bicker, you’ll both get your gold stars.”

"We don't bicker!" Captain Capri said in an insulated voice. "He needs it learn to write in English! I know he can do it!"

Pichelli sighed and sank down on his perch a little more. He was almost twenty feet above Marcus and the captain, watching the world through his binoculars. 

After a few minutes he returned his gaze to his friends, and then rotated.

"Sergeant!" he heard Captain Capri snap, and Pichelli swing around again. 

Marcus was petting the new collar of his coat, and rubbing his cheek against it.

"Tappetto, can you PLEASE focus?” Pichelli asked in a pained voice. “Can you give me two minutes?"

Pichelli had heard that some SEP had devolved ADD or some form of autism, but he wasn't sure if Marcus was afflicted with either before.

'No, don't say things like that,' he scolded himself in his head. 'It's not an affliction. It's a different way of using your brain.' Besides, it didn’t feel like what he knew of either conditions. It was more like they were able to focus outside the scope of other people’s senses.

"Just finish the job and you can have the cookies from my MRE, OK?" Pichelli offered. He tried to remember if Marcus had attention problems when he first met him, and he wanted to say 'yes.' The cookies were a secret way of apologizing to him. 

“Sorry, sometimes it’s kinda hard.” Marcus blushed, upset at having upset Pichelli again. It was the third time that afternoon he had been distracted. First it was a flock of birds, then a cat, now his coat lining. “I like cookies,” Marcus muttered as he continued to scribble. It was much easier to work now that the low-grade headache and eye strain was gone. He didn’t even realize how bad they were until they were gone!

After another minute he checked his work, holding it up to see it next to the real thing. “This one is really slow, only three frames, and, OK, that’s weird.” Marcus started scratching down some notes in Italian.

“D’Angelo!” Captain Capri snapped. “English!”

Marcus ignored her and continued to write. He pulled another sheet out, ready to draw, but paused. “It’s just changing color. Normally the one color will cycle, like the green over the blue and red, but now everything is turning to one color. It’s, it’s turned light blue, green, yellow,” he mused. 

“We should go!” Captain Capri snapped, and tried to haul Marcus to his feet. She made sure Pichelli knew they were leaving, then shoved the research in her bag.

Pichelli gripped Captain Capri and Marcus by the arms and hauled them along, then slung both of them over his shoulders. He dashed behind the stairwell housing to use it as cover, and quickly lay on top of them.

Everyone covered their heads and necks, waiting.

“Nothing happened?” Marcus said after a minute had passed. “Was something supposed to happen?”

Pichelli quickly tapped his earpiece. “Post? Visual on the writing?”

Post was silent for a moment. “Faded away from what I can see, Pitch.”

“Blue, green, yellow, it was dropping frequencies,” Captain Capri said and took Marcus’ notes. “English, sergeant, in English!”

“Colors, ma’am, blue, green,” Marcus explained as he pointed. “It got slower, then dimmed, and turned red.”

“It powered off,” she mused. “We need to see it again.”

Pichelli paused, thinking, then nodded. He crept carefully to the edge, body as low as he could, then peered over the ledge. He waved them forward, keeping his hand low, and Capri and Marcus took the hint and stayed down. They made it to the edge and looked at the markings again.

“Anything?” Captain Capri asked as Marcus peered over the edge.

“There’s, well, you know when you look at a sparkler, and when you look away you see the light but it’s all weird and red?” he asked, and Captain Capri nodded. “That’s what it’s like, just an echo.”

“Interesting.” They both made their notes, and Captain Capri watched it through her new goggles. “It’s like it was never there. Mark this site, we’ll return to it in a bit and see if the echo is still there.” The new goggles were closer to what Marcus and the other four observers could see, but still not perfect. 

Marcus made a few notes and nodded, and Pichelli clicked his communicator.

“We’re ready for extraction,” he told Mann, and guided Marcus and Captain Capri back to the stairs.

  
  
  


\-----

Marcus had completely shuttered his goggles and leaned back, breathing quietly. He jumped a little when Pichelli sat by him.

“Relax, Tappetto. Here, you did good, so I’m giving you a gold star.”

“Wait, really?” Marcus asked and sat up. He adjusted his goggles and looked at the sticker. He felt a surge of pride, then licked his thumb, rubbed it on the sticker, and stuck it to his log book. He started making notes in his tiny, blocky handwriting. 

“You managed to focus despite several poor starts. Now, Captain, next time, if you don’t yell at him,” Pichelli said as he handed Captain Capri a silver star, “you’ll get a gold star.” He then tore off and handed Post and Mann their stars. “Post, you know why you got silver. Mann, golden as usual. Well done, I’m proud of all of you!”

“Thanks, Pitch!” Post grinned, and stuck the silver bar into his book. “Who gets the banana?”

“Captain Capri.” Pichelli held out the page and cut the coveted banana sticker free. “You saw there was danger and you made sure we were OK, then you stowed the research. I appreciate the care for your fellow agents. Banana sticker.”

She looked up at him. “But I got a silver star?” she said, slightly confused.

“Because you keep yelling at Marcus. But you did your job well, and you showed concern for us. So, silver star,” he explained, and hoped she got the message. "Are we all clear to go?"

Wendy Mann checked something on her dashboard then nodded. "Team Donatello returning to base."

  
  
\-----

“Hey, I need your bathroom,” Wendy Mann said. “Our side of the street is out of hot water again.” 

“Could I use it next? I don’t want to walk to the other side of the base,” Captain Capri asked quietly.

Pichelli opened the door, and with a grand bowing gesture ushered both women inside. 

Wendy waved at Post and Marcus as she walked by, winking with both one eye, then the other. “You know I love you all and NOT just because of your unlimited hot water, right?” she asked.

“Hey, being friends with a guy who can’t control his body temperature comes in hand some times!” Post said with a laugh. “Even though I don’t get to partake.” He wouldn’t admit it, but he as a little bitter he didn’t fit in the shower.

Marcus continued coaching Pichelli and Post in Italian while Captain Capri sat on the edge of Post’s bed, working a word puzzle. Everything was quiet, and they all appreciated the dull and boring moments of life much better now.

Wendy Mann took a few minutes longer than normal, then adjusted her cornrows as best she could. She worried at the loose strands she constantly picked at, tucking them in as best she could, vowing to find someone one base who could work with Black hair. Now dressed and freshened up, she came out and swapped places with Captain Capri.

She had changed into her nicest shirt, fresh pants and polished boots. She pulled out a small mirror and made sure her eyebrows were good. “There’s plenty of hot water left,” she announced, and pulled out her foundation. She always thought of herself as considerate, doing her makeup in the room instead of the shower. Wendy Mann wasn’t sure Captain Capri ever noticed, since she continued to do her makeup in the shower.

“And what are you all dolled up for?” Post asked as Wendy Mann rolled some lip gloss on.

“Got a date, one of the guys from to garage. 324,” she said, and pulled out her eyeliner. After a smooth coat of concealer she considered herself done.

“You look like the opposite of a tart. What’s the opposite of a tart? A choir boy?” Post asked.

“Have you MET any choir boys?” Marcus said with a snorted laugh. “I have. We’re all tarts.” 

Wendy Mann laughed and stood up. “OK, I’m off to hunt for a boyfriend.”

“I wish I had a boyfriend,” Marcus muttered. “Someone with warm hands.”

“Ah, to hold your cold ones,” Wendy Mann said with a sage nod. “Thermodynamic equilibrium.”

“The truest of loves, right? The scientifically sound ones.” Post said. “Hey, Pitch, you ever want a boyfriend?”

“No, not really,” he said. “I think I‘m the only straight guy in the room.” He put his Italian notebook away and spotted the photos in the bottom of the box. He pulled them out, examining them again.

“You OK there, Pitch?” Wendy Mann asked, noting the change in his posture.

“Yeah, just thinking of something.” He sat down, photos in hand. “Well, I kinda lied early. Ever watch Rocket Robin? As a kid I wanted to marry Prince Travis. I was, what, nine?” 

Everyone burst into laughter. 

“You watched Rocket Robin?” Post asked. “I loved Rocket Robin, yeah!”

“I didn’t. I don’t watch anime,” Marcus said with a nod, his arms crossed.

“It was a live action show, little guy!” Post said and hauled Marcus into a headlock. “Prince Travis grew up to be Captain Fusion, the comic book here guy, yeah?”

“I said I don’t watch anime!” Marcus said with laughter as Post rubbed his head. “I know who The Guardsmen are, OK? The movie made almost a billion dollars it’s second day!”

“OK, so you DO know some pop culture, good,” Wendy Mann smirked. “Good pick. Captain Fusion is quite the hero.”

Captain Capri emerged, fresher and wearing clean clothes. She had taken one of her two minute showers. “Oh, that felt good. You get the real hot water!” For once it seemed like she was willing to jump into the conversation. “Captain Fusion is a dream man. Every woman wants a Captain Fusion.”

“Yeah, she liked him, too,” Pichelli said quietly, photos in his hand. He held his six photos, some of the only possessions he had left.

“You never showed us your photos,” Marcus said and wormed his way from Post’s arm.

“Here,” Pichelli said quietly. “This is Fawzia and I at the premier.” He held out a photo of his younger self in an obviously hand-made Captain Fusion costume, next to a woman with dark skin as beautiful as polished volcanic glass and a hijab, dressed as Lady Solaria. Her hijab was made from twisted yellow and gold fabrics, and she wore golden contacts. She was the picture of joy, smiling brightly, and Pichelli was dumbstruck.

“Oh, she’s pretty,” Marcus said and handed the photo to Post.

“Nice. She your girlfriend?” he asked in a teasing tone, singing out ‘girlfriend.’

“Fiance.” There was something somber about his voice and he teasing stopped. “And Kid Flare is Nicola, my brother.” Nicola’s costume blew Pichelli and Fawzias’ costumes out of the water, with blinking LEDs and a towering crown of flaming hair.

“Pitch,” Wendy Mann said softly.

“Pittsburgh,” Pichelli said in a tired voice.

Pittsburgh had been flattened when them omnium erupted, and was nothing for than a glassy stain on the landscape.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Marcus said quietly.

“Yeah, it, you know. I miss him. And if I don’t think about him, I don’t miss him.” He paused and turned to Marcus, and suddenly understood him a little better. There were things Marcus didn’t like to talk about, either.

“When my last tour was up, I was contacted about SEP. I declined at first. My time was up, I was going to take a job at the store Mr. Said ran, and Fawzia and I would get married.” He ran his thumb over the next picture of them, their cheeks hollow from sucking on juice boxes. “Then, Pittsburgh.” He sighed and moved onto the next picture. “I signed up for SEP when the offer came around again, and that’s the story you never knew.”

“Is that why you adopted the little guy?” Wendy Mann asked, and Pichelli snorted.

“Why do you call him Tappetto instead of Tappo?” Capri asked suddenly. 

“Because Nonno calls Nic Tappo. I’m younger, so I’m Tappetto.” He looked over to Wendy Mann. “Who’s waiting for you?”

“No one, honestly. I lost my parents in Dallas, and I have a sister, but we haven’t spoken in years. I’d like to find her, though.” She looked to Benji. “You?”

“Ah, you know about Billie,” he said, suddenly shy and remorse. “Captain?”

“That’s personal,” she said quietly, and they all nodded. “We should get some rest.” She stood and quietly left, and Wendy Mann followed her.

“I’ll make sure she gets home OK.” She left, locking the door behind her.

“Hey, Post,” Pichelli asked, “could you put these with yours? I lost the notebook I was carting them in, and, well, you have that nice picture book and everything.”

Post eagerly pulled out his photo album. “Yeah, sure thing, Pitch! Here, let me make a little room, yeah?” Post quickly shuffled some pictures and made two open pages, and he handed the book over.

“This was The Guardsmen movie, and this when we hit Virginia Beach for summer vacation.” He pulled out a picture of two families at picnic tables, his and hers. “That’s Mr. and Mrs. Said, her parents. Mr. Said ran Morris Family Hardware. Morris hasn’t run it in about twenty years, but no one wants to change the sign.”

He rubbed his eyes for a moment, and gestured to a high school picture. He named a few names, pointing to them. “We were the Color Guard.”

“I was in Color Guard!” Marcus said brightly. “It was loads of fun!”

“Is that why you juggle?” Post asked. “I’m just imagining you both tossing flags now! Wendy has GOT to know this!”

“We’ll tell her after her date!” Pichelli said. “I was usually the bottom of the pyramid, it’s how I met Fawzia, Buddy dropped her on me.”

“Every team has a Buddy. Or a Chip,” Marcus grunted.

“Or a Freddy. Wrestling team!” Post announced, and flipped a few pages back. He kept his thumb in the book to hold Pichelli’s place. “There we go!” He gestured to a picture of him towering over his coach. “Took two weeks to get a suit that fit me that was regulation!”

“Holy shit you were huge!” Pichelli said with a laugh, and they flipped back to his six pictures. “Do you have any photos, Tappetto?”

“No, the only thing I brought with y is my Bible and rosary. Everything else I left behind.” He admired the picture of Pichelli’s parents. “Possessions aren’t really my thing.”

“You’d flip if someone tried to take your Bible though,” Post predicted. “You might actually swear.”

“Tappetto can’t swear,” Pichelli scoffed, and they three broke into laughter again. “I’ll get it.” Pichelli answered the knock on the door. “Captain, forget something?”

“Some lab space has opened up. I need D’Angelo to help me test light sources to check for omnic frequencies.” Her voice was quiet instead of firm. 

“Sure, let me grab my walkin’ outside goggles.” Marcus flipped through the pages on his end table, grabbing and examining goggles.

“Bring the lot, we can do multiple test.” She turned and started to walk, and Marcus grabbed all three goggles.

“Hey, hold up!” he called and swapped goggles as he darted out the door. He almost bumped into some airmen, and Pichelli followed. “Sorry, scuse me, eyes adjusting to light.”

“They’re talking about removing your security detail while on base,” Pichelli noted as they both caught up to the captain. “Mainly because Post takes up a LOT of space in meetings, and Wendy Mann threatens to shoot people a lot.”

“It just means we’ll get to hang out more!” Marcus laughed. “So long as you un-contour those glass cutting cheekbones.”

“I can’t control what nature gave me,” Pichelli said. “Call if you want an escort back.” He waved and took off towards the canteen.


End file.
